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eddies-house · 5 months

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Smoke Signals

Chapter Twelve - The Holiday Season Begins

W/C: 8.7K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

"I've got my eye on you."

Say Yes To Heaven - L.D.R

A/N: Wow I think this is the longest I've gone without posting a chapter. I really hope you guys enjoy this one. I wrote it in bits and pieces and read it over several times. I would really really really love to know what you think, this one is so special and personal to me.

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Sugary apple goo.

You think back to Thanksgiving back home, a ruckus constant in the kitchen as dinner is prepared, more than enough food to feed an entire village. Pots and pans clank together, trays create an echo as they are not-so-carefully placed atop the counter. Dinner rolls are burned but still enjoyed with warm cinnamon butter. The potatoes are a touch too lumpy but still desirable with notes of rosemary and an ungodly amount of garlic. Various smells, both sweet and savory flood the house, your poor, stressed out mother churning out dish after dish, siblings all engaged in some kind of ball game out in the street just after watching the Thanksgiving Day parade.

You tend to the green bean casserole, an easy dish that you couldn’t screw up even with your limited attention span. Cream of Mushroom soup from a can seemed so repulsive in itself although it brought the whole dish together. It didn’t matter that seconds prior it slumped against the green beans still in the shape of the can, nearly gelatinous. Once stirred in and baked with crispy onions layered over the top, it was a masterpiece. A five star dish in your book.

It would only be a matter of time before grandma showed up with her famously delicious apple pie, the crust coated in extra amounts of grainy sugar, the dish still piping hot. And the “sugary apple goo” as you used to call it at the age of three already had your mouth watering just thinking about it, crispy apples so fresh and topped with syrupy caramelized sauce topped off with cinnamon and nutmeg, all wrapped up in a flaky, buttery crust.

You sigh, piling the apple mixture on top of the homemade graham cracker crust. It wasn’t clear to you just how lonely Thanksgiving morning would be without anyone around. Sure, you had Donnie’s to look forward to this evening but until then, you were on your own, the parade quietly playing on the TV though you hadn’t been very impressed with the floats this year. Holiday depression was kicking in, a kind you hadn’t experienced yet. They were usually always a happy time, family surrounding you and distracting you from the lonesome thoughts you usually had. This year it started feeling more like a ton of bricks was sitting on your chest, no one able to aid in providing you with some kind of task such as the honor of making the green bean casserole to ease the pressure.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t just make the controversially delicious dish, you had everything stashed in the pantry. It just didn’t feel right. It went unnoticed by you that tears were slowly sliding down your cheeks until a fat one landed on your wrist as you finished spooning the apple filling.

Again?

In that moment you swear you looked the most pitiful you had ever looked in your entire life, tears trailing down your face silently, all alone, homesick. You should be in your pajamas playing some kind of a board game on the coffee table in the living room, surrounded by your siblings. Not throwing yourself a pity party while spreading apple goo. To top it off, your hands had gotten completely covered, the sauce making your fingers undesirably sticky. You hadn’t quite reached the point of sobs yet though you suppose if you let the goo linger on your hands any longer you would.

Some comforting folk music your grandpa used to play religiously rang through the house though you felt no such comfort. Not as much as you’d hoped anyway. It brought a familiar sense of his essence to you, his passing three years ago not settling right in your heart. It only made you more homesick.

But you weren’t going to let yourself soak in salty tears and sticky apples. No, you washed your hands in soothing warm water, the sludge sliding right off and into the metal of the sink, eyes puffy and red but void of tears for the time being. You’d sucked them back and changed the music to something more upbeat, some Elvis that your grandpa had also engrained deeply into your brain though you hoped the faster tempo would brighten your spirits and ignite the happy memories.

Only, it landed you on the couch in a whole new sea of sobs this time as Unchained Melody lingered in the lonely room. There was no getting a grip on the gut-wrenching, stomach-aching isolation you were feeling, sanity was long gone. You were supposed to be trimming the dough that was meant to create the criss cross pattern for the pie, you were supposed to be enjoying your glass of wine as you sang under your breath to familiar tunes, you were supposed to be okay.

It was you, after all, who had made the decision to move, right? It was you who picked up your entire life and plopped it right in the middle of some unknown mountain town in search of yourself. You feared that you were just losing yourself instead, forgetting just after a few months what it felt like to be surrounded by loved ones, forgetting how it felt to come home to a full house after a grueling shift at the local Denny’s. You smelled of burnt coffee and dry eggs, your hair greasier than the literal grease trap, but none of that mattered the second you stepped into the coziness of the living room, all family dysfunction left at the door.

The tears wouldn’t stop though you still managed to force yourself off of the couch, wiping snot away with the back of your hand as you stared at the messy kitchen in despair. Everything suddenly seemed so…impossible. How were you meant to do anything while simultaneously questioning your entire existence, your entire meaning of life?

You had been in such disarray that cleaning up as you went didn’t even seem close to an option, nearly every pot and pan either set on top of the stove or thrown in the sink, whisks and spatulas scattered among the mess, and apple skins littering the floor. Now you were taking in the aftermath, not even having the finished product to show as an excuse for the complete disaster, even the dough still rolled out on the cutting board. You had hours left to prepare though it felt like seconds ticking by to inevitable disappointment.

The end of the world felt like it weighed down on your shoulders yet you did what you did best each time. You set it aside and pressed on. It was never simple, weak hands grasping the dull knife, slicing through the dough to create uniform strips. Motivation was running dry, the desire to grace everyone with the most delicious apple pie they’d ever tasted was out the window, you could only do what your body allowed.

And like every other time you had to pull yourself out of the gutter. Life began to bleed back into your eyes as your creation came back to life. Puffiness still remained throughout your face, eyes still droopy but slowly your drive kicked back into gear. Sniffles from previous snotty tears continued but nothing felt better than laying down the last layer of dough over the apple filling, a quest conquered.

Finishing off your cheap red wine, you reward yourself by licking off the spoon you’d used for the filling. The kitchen still required a good scrub down but you could live with the mess a little while longer as you indulged in the sweetness. Something well deserved. You didn’t even want to think about the nightmare that Christmas was about to become, decorating your tree with only the company of your dreaded thoughts. That was a scenario you were not willing to wander into, at least not until it would actually happen. There was no sense in making yourself live through it twice, your brain longing to torture you with irrational possibilities.

Elvis’s voice continues to carry through the living room, a second glass of wine being poured in hopes of easing your homesickness, attempting to neglect thoughts of what you would usually be doing right now. It was barely working, only leaving you feeling slightly lazy with a good layer of sadness still looming over you like a storm cloud. There was no extinguishing the sorrows you felt for familiarity and the comfort the holidays were supposed to bring you.

Sudden knocking sends you into a brief panic, unexpected guests were not in the cards for your lonesome morning that had only served to encourage your crybaby tendencies. At the very least you got a pie out of it.

The knocking persists as you scramble up from your depressing divot on the couch, a certain urgency waving over you at the speed of the knocks. They were rapid, quick pecks at the wood, a worrisome speed that usually constituted an emergency in the end.

Why today, why now?

With a heavy sigh, you swing the door open, glass of half-finished wine in one hand while the other runs down your drained face. You expect some kind of eviction notice; god knows why since you own the place. Maybe the check hadn’t reached the mortgage company, maybe it had been intercepted in transit. The last thing you expect on your doorstep is a wide-eyed Eddie cradling a large bowl in one arm. His gray sweatpants swallow his legs and hang low on his hips, a sliver of his tummy on display in between his t-shirt and pants.

It’s conflicting. Do you act concerned and start begging the questions: Did something happen? Who’s injured? Or do you exhale in relief as a tiny smile tugs at the corners of his mouth even in his somewhat distressed state? It can’t be that bad if he still finds it in himself to smile, right?

“I, uh, I need help.” He says sheepishly.

Ever since the night of the hoedown, he’d been a new kind of shy with you. You couldn’t lie and say you didn’t adore it because truth be told, big bad Eddie Munson who previously chewed you out for being so bashful was now getting a taste of his own medicine. Except you had been much kinder than he initially was, though it was fun to tease him and force his face to turn a vibrant tomato red.

“Help?” You smirk, swirling your wine as if you were some kind of connoisseur. “My, my, how the tables have turned.”

“Bambi.” He groans, still maintaining focused eye contact with the wood planks of your porch.

“Eddie.”

It’s said so softly, in a way that reduces him to a puddle, his knees could give out at any moment if you so much as looked at him a certain way which had been why he refused to catch your gaze. He internally curses himself for automatically counting under his breath, unable to stop himself: one, two, three, one, two, three.

In an instant your face falls, he only ever counted when he was stressed from what you could gather. It was a learning curve, navigating Eddie’s quirks.

“Hey.” You soothe, gingerly grabbing his wrist with your free hand. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

His curls bounce with a shake of his head, his eyes fluttering shut. The counting stops but he still comes across as fuzzy. Disoriented.

“Come inside.” You whisper, gently tugging him through the door, your wine abandoned at the entry table in the process. “It’s freezing out.”

Instinctually he hands you the bowl he’d been cradling close to his body with a wooden spoon sticking out. Upon further inspection, a mountain of mashed potatoes-or should you say lumps of potatoes are piled up within the bowl. The skins are still intact, way too many if he intended to make smooth and creamy potatoes. They’d be much less than enjoyable in the state they were currently in.

“I fucked them up.” He whispers.

The sight you’re met with is that of a small child in a grown man’s body, his large eyes pleading. You’re forced to realize that today may very well be much worse for him than it is for you. He’d warned you that he didn’t do holidays and here he was, a nervous wreck turning up on your doorstep in a panic with lumpy potatoes. And suddenly you felt so selfish.

“That’s okay.” You assure him, tracing a tender thumb over his bicep. He looked so lost. “Eddie, it’s okay.” You repeat with a nod.

“I just, I was gonna buy something from the store, and then, I just thought–I dunno maybe I’d at least try.” He tugs on his curls, a bit too harshly for your liking. “I don’t know why I even tried.” He sighs in defeat.

It’s enough to break your heart.

“Eddie.”

Turmoil flashes in his eyes, stress apparent in the way his brows furrow and his frown lines grow deeper. His lips are red, most likely bitten, and he can’t stop twisting one of his rings around his finger. He looks to be as much of a wreck as you felt although the symptoms seem to be much more apparent in his appearance than yours. Your slightly swollen eyes were nothing compared to his tousled curls, anxieties littered across his face and trembling hands unable to be subtly hidden without the crutch of sleeves.

“I, uh, I-I shouldn’t have bothered.” He mutters, reaching for the door.

You intercept him, your hand wrapping around his elbow while you attempt to meet his eyes. He freezes in his escape, your touch rendering him paralyzed, your fingers suddenly too determined in digging into the meat of his arm. Not meanly. Never meanly. More concerned. Concerned for the way he cowers away the second he’s offered any fraction of help. Perhaps it’s hypocritical of you to regard him with such worry when you yourself present the same behaviors under the same circumstances and expect no such treatment.

Your expression offers a certain softness that he’s come across one too many times since you’d barged into his life and taken his heart hostage. You’d never know you committed such a crime. And he’d never outright tell you of the ache that sat deep in his chest that he had no clue how to satiate. All he knew was that he could not jeopardize this. If he could get through the holidays, if he could get to January and you were still around, then, and only then would he be convinced that he had finally lifted whatever fucked up, out-of-this-world curse that had haunted him all his life.

“It’s okay.” Barely above a whisper, you assure him.

Eddie doesn’t remember making his way into your kitchen, he can’t recall your delicate hand pulling him along until you let go to discard his potato concoction onto the counter and he realizes he’s taken the warmth for granted in a haze of existential dread. Like a lost puppy, he stares at your fingertips as they linger on the counter while you lean over to reach for an empty casserole dish. The entirety of your kitchen cabinets had thrown up all over the counters, a reflection of the way his brain felt. Scattered.

“Potatoes are actually super complicated.”

His ears perk up, unsure of how to conjure up a response. Instead, he raises his eyebrows, fearful of how dumb he could make himself look with just a few syllables. It wasn’t like him to care so deeply what others thought of him.

“That’s why I avoid them. Instead–” You turn around only to pull out a can of green beans and a can of cream of mushroom. “-work smarter, not harder.”

Eddie knows he should be hanging onto every word you say and usually he would be, he knows. Except he can’t help but tune into the melody of Blue Christmas that had been echoing off the kitchen walls from your record player across the room.

The damn record player. And the records.

He didn’t realize how much the records still affected him. He had his own collection now, sure. But anything that resembled the essence of his Mama, lived safely and soundly on its dedicated shelf in his room, untouched. It took him years to rebuild Mama’s collection.

“Sorry can we-” He makes his way toward the record player, his face contorted nearly painfully before lifting the needle. “I just-I can’t think.”

Your motions were paused, can opener halfway through the can of beans as your eyes meet him with questions splayed across your face. You don’t ask them. An understanding smile works its way across your lips and god, he doesn’t know why you’re so patient with him after he stepped into your house and suddenly had the uncontrollable urge to shut off your music. As he strides back into the kitchen, a series of apologies haven't even left his mouth and yet-

“So…Green Bean Casserole.” You state, fingers tapping against the tin of each can. “And Sugary Apple Goo.” A vague gesture toward the uncooked pie. “Kind of a…weird duo. Or it will be if I actually get it in the oven-”

“Sorry, what?”

“Apple pie. The apple pie. At home we just call it sugary apple goo, don’t ask why it’s just–it’s just a thing we do.” You clarify, shoving the dessert into the comforting warmth of the oven, shivering at the sensation as goosebumps begin to prick your skin.

“Apple goo.” He repeats. A raised brow disappearing beyond his messy bangs.

Eddie almost forgets the reason why he’d been in such disarray, almost forgets why he even bothered knocking on your door in the first place, only remembers the fact that he was in a panicked state.

“Yeah.” You sigh.

You busy yourself with slopping the now drained green beans into a nearby glass bowl. Your blotchy skin and puffy eyes catch in the stream of sunlight, the kitchen window betraying you as it showcases your true state. Avoiding those large brown eyes is the best you can do, the theory that if you can’t see him he can’t see you dumbly being put to use no matter how aware you are that it makes no sense. Maybe if you act “okay enough”, he’ll chalk it up to the common cold, placing the responsibility for your rudolph-like nose on the yearly infection.

What you fail to realize is that by this point, he’s become too familiar with your teary eyes and sad worry lines that only seemed prominent in your times of distress. Times that he had regretfully been the cause of previously. Words can’t escape his practically sewn-shut-mouth, all sounds dying long before forming on his tongue. It’s impossible to create comfort when he himself has trouble doing so for himself. How could he possibly offer such comfort to someone who deserved kinder words from someone of a higher regard?

“Here, dump this in and mix.” You instruct, forcing a can of cream of mushroom and a wooden spoon in his hands, yanking him out of his mind.

There’s no room for protest, not that he even intended to. Not when you’re standing there with the ghost of tear tracks down your cheeks. Not when you’re this kind. Not when you’re you.

“Okay.” He mutters, a disgusting sound filling his ears from the lumpy soup falling into the bowl.

“After that, pour it in here.” You place a ceramic casserole dish to his right, the dish nearly too large to fit on the cluttered counter though you’re too occupied with tidying up other parts of the kitchen to bother.

“Got it.”

Eddie Munson absolutely hates Thanksgiving. But he doesn’t mind it so much when you’re rustling around behind him, a silent conversation hanging in the air that neither of you are alone in your holiday sorrows, whatever they may be.

You don’t ask why he continues counting under his breath behind you or why his hands are shaking.

And he doesn’t ask why tears linger in your eyes or why you pause to regain your composure after dropping a pan a bit too loudly for your liking, your lip wobbling.

Because the collective understanding is that neither of you is okay. And maybe that’s okay.

–

“Careful, the bottom is–”

“Shit!”

“-hot.”

A ringed hand waves around in an effort to rid it of the burning sensation caused by the bottom of the piping hot casserole dish. Eddie releases a series of curses, the side of the dish pushed against his chest as he balances it between his body and his single arm protected by one of your generously donated dish rags. Your wide eyes caution him in his balancing act, a perfectly crafted green bean casserole at risk due to his negligence as he had taken the liberty of knocking on the door.

“What the fuck, how can fuckin’ beans be so goddamn hot?” Brown eyes nearly roll into the back of his head, his fingertips more than likely singed an angry red.

It’s no laughing matter, not according to the scowl that makes its way across his handsome features but you can’t stop the pull of your lips from forming a large grin, giggles caught in the back of your throat. His irritation disappears just as quickly as it came, harsh edges blurring into softness at the sight of your puffed out cheeks, inflated due to the humor just dying to crawl out of your mouth.

“Oh, shut up.” A nudge of his shoulder against yours has you shaking your head, laughter finally escaping your perfectly glossed lips.

He could write paragraphs about them if it didn’t seem so creepy and stalkerish. So he allowed himself the tiniest of glances, only hoping to paint the full picture in his head ever since you’d quickly puckered your lips in front of your mirror at home to complete your finishing touches while he viewed from the porch where he waited in his black button up and nicest pair of jeans. He’d never been so jealous over a tube of lipgloss. In fact, he’d never in his life been jealous of a tube of lipgloss and he never felt like more of a loser than in that moment.

“I told you.” You mutter, an endearing side eye delivered right into his line of sight. It was something almost child-like, something innocent and not at all like what he’d ever really been on the receiving end of. Maybe because there was a certain flirtiness you were hinting at although he was no expert and had no right to assume.

“I told you.” He mumbles back with a higher pitch, mocking you.

You turn toward him, a comeback on the tip of your tongue when his own tongue interrupts with a taunt, peeking out between his lips swiftly, his nose scrunching up meanly before his full attention is back on the door as it creaks open. And then, a quick wink that only you yourself were a witness to, only creating a stir in your brain as you decipher that no one else would be able to confirm the action.

“Hey!” Donnie greets, arms flung up in excitement as she ushers you into her welcoming home, smells infiltrating your nose, sweet and savory galore.

Before either you or Eddie can even get a simple “hello” in, she’s talking your ear off, something about who all is already in the living room, how far along the turkey is, where the bathroom is, all while guiding you into the spacious dining room. She must have set out her fine china, the gorgeous dishes set all around the table lined with champagne colored silver on the edges of the plates. Two tables had been pushed together, creating enough space for the large number of guests expected. In the center sat an exquisite arrangement of various orange-hued flowers and some greenery.

The house was comforting; not too large and not too small, a two story dream that no doubt had acres of backyard. The Christmas tree had already been set up and decorated, the branches and lights hinting at you from the other room where men roared with laughter, a football game blaring from the TV that contrasted with the familiar voice of Frank Sinatra coming from the stereo. Combined turkey and Santa decorations adorned the interior everywhere you glanced, surfaces that would usually be empty year around were occupied with tacky little figurines that were more endearing than anything. Plastic garland traced the rails of the stairs, littered in fake plastic cranberries, the front room being far more grand than your entire home as you inspected it through the archway of the dining room.

Suddenly your nerves were simmering down, a familiar feeling nestling into the bottom of your chest as your shoulders fell from their tensed position, your fingers letting up on their grip on the pie tin you clutched so desperately. Women squealed from the kitchen, a series of “oh my god”s erupting into the rest of the house, some kind of juicy gossip initiating several gasps as well as some laughter. Your homesickness began to lie dormant, warmth overtaking you as Donnie went on and on about her family members, which ones to avoid sitting next to at all costs and warning you of the aunties that would corner you and beg for details on your love life.

“Just pretend I’m calling you and run as fast as you can in the other direction.” She advises. “And if that doesn’t work, tell ‘em you had too much wine and that it’s making a reappearance. They’ll scatter like flies.”

You laugh along, taking mental notes as she grabs the pie from you, complimenting the smell as she sets it among several other desserts, a whole table dedicated only to sweets. When she goes to grab the green bean casserole from Eddie, you can’t help but pause and watch as his doe eyes trace his surroundings, a clearly unfamiliar environment to him. There’s uncertainty dripping from his demeanor, his single finger tapping against the dish: One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

“Green bean casserole-Eddie, do you know how many green bean casserole we’ve got? Like you all read each other’s mind, I swear.” Donnie jokes.

“It’s-um, it’s hot.” He cautions her.

Sauntering toward the main table, Donnie proudly sets it on top of a place mat to protect the wood from the heat. Eddie doesn’t budge, seemingly glued to the carpet, his hands still lingering in the air like he had still been holding the dish.

“You okay?” You mouth to him, looking up into his worried eyes, only hoping to soothe the crease in between his eyebrows.

He nods though you suspect he’s being a bit dishonest.

“Oh, c’mon Eddie! You know I’m just pullin’ your leg.” Donnie reassures, a heavy hand falling against his shoulder. “Shoot, I have to go check on the oven. Yell for me if you need anything, both of you, okay?”

“Sure.” You mumble. “Thank you.”

“There’s a fully stocked bar right over there, help yourselves.” She calls as she backs herself up toward the kitchen. “But don’t go too crazy.” She sends a knowing glance, recalling both of your tendencies to take on more than you can handle.

“Why don’t we get some air?” You suggest, unable to comprehend exactly just what was happening in Eddie’s mind although you knew enough to understand that he was miles outside of his comfort zone.

“No, no. I’m good.” A cleared throat doesn’t reassure you enough but you let it go for the time being. Prying wasn’t going to help. “”M gonna get a beer.” He murmurs, chain jingling from his belt as he makes his way toward what you can only assume is the kitchen where Donnie had just disappeared to.

As pathetic as it seemed, you weren’t going to allow yourself to wander around alone, vulnerable to various conversations trapping you in small talk with strangers: an absolute nightmare. Timidly, you follow behind Eddie at a safe distance, holding your breath as you take in the new room full of busy women and many glasses of wine. The smell of gravy heavily lingers, a tinge of the sourly sweet alcohol peeking through as you release your breath and inhale finally.

And then-they were all over him. Sweet older women, ranging from around fifty plus years, all doting on him, cooing at him while complimenting how tall he is and his handsome features. It only forces you to lean your hip against the counter and take in the most captivating scene you’d ever witnessed. His cheeks redden, his entire face matching shortly after as he nods in response, small “thank you”s sneaking past his lips with a sheepish grin threatening to spread across his face, dimples prominent. It’s clear he doesn’t know what to do with the attention, has no recognition of the power he currently holds.

“Is this one yours?!” One woman shrieks, taking your hands in her bony ones.

“Oh-”

“You’re so lucky, he’s such a looker!” Another chimes in.

“We’re not-”

“You better hope he holds onto all that hair throughout the years.” A third nods.

Eddie’s face has never been redder, crimson painting his usually pale skin, a beer pinched in between his fingers as he avoids every single eye in the room. You can only imagine the look on your own face, maybe slightly mortified with a hint of pink pulling at your cheeks due to the unnecessary attention.

“Alright, alright.” Donnie interjects. “Enough, you’re gonna scare ‘em away before they’ve even had a bite to eat!” She waves her hands around, dramatics on full display as she shoos them away like pigeons.

“Thank you.” You whisper, eyes large and surprised.

“Run, run.” Donnie displays wide eyes, gently shoving you both out of the kitchen.

–

Throughout the evening, you kept Eddie in your peripheral. Sure, he was grown and fully capable of taking care of himself but it didn’t worry you any less when holidays weren’t necessarily his favorite thing. Anxieties lurked in the back of your mind the second he started counting earlier, never once fading away no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself that he was fine, now bantering back and forth with Sam.

“That Steve kid really can’t dance.” Nathan laughs, pulling you back into the initial conversation you were having, perched on the couch with a glass of wine set in front of you on the coffee table courtesy of Donnie’s excellent hosting skills.

“Well that’s why he excused himself off the dancefloor.” You softly smile, earning another hearty laugh from the man.

“Hey, but Eddie’s no better.” He jokes, taking a swig of his beer. “Looked like a damn giraffe stumbling over his own legs.”

“I wasn’t very coordinated either!” You defend. “We were a hot mess.” You bury your face in your hands.

“Yeah, I bet Eddie thought you were hot.”

The recliner adjacent to you creaks beneath Jett as he makes himself comfortable, slouching with a beer in his hand.

“Whoa.” Nathan leans forward, ready to reprimand him. “What-”

“That’s okay.” You speak softly, your hand covering the older man’s as an act of keeping the peace, something you did best. Several seconds of contemplation and a glance across the room toward Eddie change your mind.

“Actually-it’s not.” You turn your body toward Jett, a man–child before your eyes that refused to even look at you after his comment. Your hands shake and your cheeks heat with embarrassment, chalking your sudden confidence up to the glass and a half of wine you indulged in.

“What?” Jett furrows his brows, examining his beer far too aggressively as a means to avoid you.

“It’s not okay.” You whisper, a wimpy excuse of a defense.

“What’s gotten into you, boy?” Nathan scolds through gritted teeth.

Jett’s nearly-black eyes resemble something opposite in comparison to the warmth in those across the room currently harboring a twinkle in an engaged conversation. The boy is unable to get a word in as you quietly begin to address him.

“Look, I’m sorry if I did something wrong.” You regret the tremble in your tone, confrontation was well out of your comfort zone, especially with someone who had been so hostile for no reason. It wasn’t in your DNA to be the “bad guy” even when it would benefit your wellbeing.

Something in your words softens Jett’s eyes, pulls a piece of him back into reality. You weren’t terrorizing him and he couldn’t seem to grasp that ever since that night you had argued with Eddie behind the bar. And you hadn’t spoken a word out of line but you weren’t clueless. Clearly he had an agenda against you and Eddie, it never left your mind since Eddie mentioned that Jett got all over-protective suddenly that night and took it out on him. But what could you do when all he did was puff out his chest rather than have a decent conversation? His frayed emotions were not your responsibility, you owed him nothing if he was going to insist on acting like a toddler in adult situations. You suppose some of it could be due to his lack of years behind yourself and Eddie, Jett still a teenager, almost twenty whereas you had been in your twenties for a few years now. It wasn’t an excuse, just your brain attempting to work out his logic.

“You didn’t–you didn’t do anything wrong.” He sighs, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

You don’t offer any words. Only an expectant look. Expecting of some kind of explanation as to why he’d been acting so cruel. And as if the universe decided you didn’t live in enough anguish with your homesickness that morning paired with the current unwanted confrontation, Eddie’s eyes met yours for a brief moment before darting away, a deep sigh and suddenly slouching shoulders clearly indicating some kind of defeat before he quietly stepped out of the room.

“Can we get into this another time?”

You don’t wait for a response, excusing yourself to slip out of the room and follow the trail of cold out the front door, the chill seeping into your bones as your cradle your arms close to yourself. The porch is spacious, something you hadn’t taken notice of earlier when arriving. To your left, Eddie sits on a wooden bench with the family name “Scott” carved into it. A cigarette takes its place between his fingers, his lighter flickering while he lets out a frustrated groan. He places the stick between his lips and cups the flame to hide it from the wind, finally succeeding in lighting it, puffs of smoke escaping through the corners of his mouth.

“I’m not fragile, Bambi. Stop following me around.” He mutters, pulling the cigarette from his lips. There’s no malice detected in his words, just something lacking hope as he stares straight ahead.

Carefully, you sit at the very edge of the bench, your skirt a tad too short to allow you to fully sit back due to the cold surface. You catch a wave of his warmth as he rests his arm on his thigh. It hurts, how far away he feels even being inches from you; his mind might as well be on Jupiter. A momentary glance over at you causes him to sigh deeply, his head dipping down while he shakes it in disappointment.

“And dammit!” Eddie snaps, face twitching in aggravation. “I don’t have a jacket for you this time. Learn how to dress for the cold.” He gestures to your posture, your arms wrapped around your middle in an attempt to savor any warmth, and your jaw clenched shut as a means to keep your teeth from chattering though you can’t seem to contain the shivers nearly rattling your bones.

“I don’t need one.”

He scoffs, disbelief evident in his movements, a fidgeting hand reaching up to scratch the barely-there stubble at his jaw.

“I don’t!” You lie.

You were never one to willingly be dishonest but a little white lie in this case didn’t seem like the end of the world. Not when Eddie’s fragile state of mind seemed to gnaw away at him. You wouldn’t leave him out for the wolves to feed on him; wolves being his never ending thoughts that always without fail, won him over and forced him to crawl back into his comfort zone of isolation. You suppose you weren’t so innocent either, always succumbing to the very same habits.

“Go back inside.” A flick of his cigarette ash towards the ground ignites in the thin layer of snow barely coating the porch before extinguishing.

You can’t help the furrow in your brows, staring at him as if to figure him out, attempting to glance into his large coffee colored irises, to no avail. His shiny eyes dodge your attempts, the windows of his soul closed off, even from you. Not that you were immediately entitled, though you figure with each trauma he had shared with you, he’d at least be able to look you in the eye.

“Come with me.” You chirp. “We’ll taste all the wines. C’mon, and then we’ll be nice and hungry. Drunk eating is the best.” You extend a hand out toward him, your freshly painted nails perfectly imperfect in his peripheral.

“I’m not in the mood, Bambi.”

His gravelly voice has a certain effect on you, one you find not appropriate to dissect right now. He lifts the cigarette back up to his lips, the chance to take one more drag stolen from him as you pluck it from his fingers, tossing it into the snow without regret, stomping your foot on it for good measure.

“Well, get in the mood. Let’s go.”

Boldly, you tug at his arm, unable to move him by yourself, you know. But he willingly melts into your touch, allowing you to pull him up despite his protesting frown. Though he follows you to stand, he doesn’t budge much further than that as you try to drag him back into the cozy warmth of the house. The rounded tip of his nose glows red, the threat of a cold only pushing you to tug on his sleeve with no success in ushering him inside.

“I think ‘m just gonna head home. You think someone else could give you a ride back?” The question is hesitant, no longer wanting to participate in the festivities but still concerned for your well-being, especially if you were going to continue to drink.

Your track record with alcohol wasn’t exactly great and he’d never forgive himself if something happened and he wasn’t there just because the sight of you talking to Jett had left a bad taste in his mouth. But he couldn’t stand it any longer, watching you act so graceful all the time, especially to someone you didn’t particularly like, and then having to pretend that a simple kiss on the cheek didn’t absolutely wreck him. A kiss that you hadn’t since mentioned, and he wasn’t going to humiliate himself by insinuating that you wanted him in that way. No one wanted him in that way.

“What?” You breathe, face shifting into a sadness Eddie wanted to kick himself for. “No, you can’t go–”

“I’m sure Jett is ready and willing to entertain you.”

Low blow. He could always count on himself to deliver a low blow at the worst of times.

Eddie knew now that you had a distaste for Jett, he knew that. And yet he was stupid enough to continue using Jett as ammo against you for no reason other than his own insecurity. If he continued to push you away then it wouldn’t hurt so bad when you realized he was scum of the earth. Trailer trash. A nobody. That’s what he kept telling himself.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You fume, crossing your arms.

“I don’t know, Bambi. You tell me cause I can’t figure you out.”

The use of his nickname for you stitched together with words of anguish only further confused you. You couldn’t seem to win.

“Can’t–can’t figure me out?!” You widen your eyes at him, only hoping to convey how ridiculous of a statement it is. “Can’t figure me out. What about you?! You’re the one no one can figure out!”

You’re on the verge of whining, begging in a sense. Pleading with the most stubborn man in the world and god only knows what you’ll do if he doesn’t stand down.

“Maybe there’s a reason for that.” He states simply, monotone. It makes you want to yank your hair out by the roots and offer it to him, asking him if it’s enough. If it’s enough to shut up the voices in his head.

“Yeah? Because you don’t wanna let people in?!” Uncharacteristically, you jab a finger into his chest, frustration making itself known across your face and you only know because his eyes ever so slightly soften. “Eddie, all you do is give me mixed signals! How many times do I have to tell you I want nothing to do with Jett?! What do I have to do to get that through your thick fucking head?!” He tries to get a word in but you don’t give him an opportunity. “No, seriously! I need an instruction manual or something because I’m trying! I have been trying-”

“-I didn’t ask you to!” He finally interrupts, sorrow filling his eyes.

With a deep breath, you calm your heaving chest. It’s apparent you’re no longer cold, your skin hot from working yourself up. Steam may as well be coming from your ears though it wasn’t your intention to get so irritated with him.

“I wanted to. I want to.” Your voice comes out softer, a gentler approach to his sudden internal conflict.

“No.”

Turning away, he doesn’t quite move to leave but there’s no mistaking the fact that he’s trying to shut you out. He’s trying to escape like some kind of feral animal but you refuse to give in. You refuse to let him.

“Yes. Eddie–look at me!” You demand with a small pull of his arm.

“No.”

He goes to turn his body even further away from you but the firm hold you have on his bicep stops him. He keeps his gaze on the floorboards below, his nose twitching and eyes burning with the threat of tears. You only know because you’re all too familiar with the mandatory frown that comes with holding them back.

“Stop doing that. Please.” You beg.

“I can’t be here right now–”

“What makes you think I can?”

He’s silent. The world instantly feels so quiet, tiny snow flurries fluttering around you, making you feel as if you’re the only two people on Earth. Echoes of the celebrating and hollering inside are faint although they don’t do much to pop the bubble you find yourselves in. Then he breaks the silence, daring to plead with you this time.

“Bambi, please.” He croaks.

Your initial thought is, please what? You’d been pleading with him back and forth for god knows how many minutes straight and here he was doing it right back to you. And for what? It wasn’t a good enough plea, not for you. You weren’t ready to let it go, if you even knew what “it” was.

“No, you’re coming inside and you don’t have to associate with me if you don’t want to but you’re coming inside.”

Your demand only seems to irritate him, his brows knitting together while he pinches the bridge of his nose in between his fingers. If he was agitated then you were about to become enraged. And that is not something you wanted. You never wanted to display that kind of emotion toward him but he was practically pulling it out of you and you had to fight against it. No one had ever been able to pull such a reaction out of you, not ever. Even if you had gotten pretty close, you swallowed it down and hid it.

“Why?!” Eddie seethes.

His outburst takes you back, though with the aggravation boiling within you, you were able to contain any reaction he was seeking, if any. That wasn’t the case for long though as you then launch yourself into another tantrum after staring for a second too long at his snarled lip.

“Because believe it or not, I care, Eddie!” You practically wail, your voice becoming hoarse. “If you leave I’m coming with you because I’m not leaving you alone. Not on Thanksgiving.” Your head shakes in denial.

Against your own will, a single tear trails down your cheek and the moment you feel it, you’re rapidly wiping it away, hoping he never even saw it when you knew damn well his umber eyes followed it all the way down your face. He only pulls his gaze away.

“I’m leaving. You’re staying here.” He decides, regret etched into his features.

In a final attempt to escape your grasp, he succeeds, feeling your fingertips linger for one last second before drifting away as he turns and makes his way down the porch steps, wood protesting beneath him. The noise is the only proof you have that he’s actually leaving, that he actually feels he’s not worthy enough to stay.

You refuse to give up so easily.

Your feet are already on a mission, nearly sprinting down the stairs even with the threat of slipping on the minimal amount of ice beginning to freeze over. Eddie pays no mind to the fast paced footsteps crunching against the gravel behind him, making his way over to Sugar with his head hung low. Your heart is racing, not just because you suddenly decided to sprint a few yards but because a healthy dose of dopamine has started coursing throughout your body, a good amount of anxiety accompanying it but not deferring you any longer.

Eddie makes it to Sugar, his hand reaching for the door only for it to be forced shut with a self-manicured hand. If he didn’t know who the hand belonged to he’d be chewing the owner out for daring to touch his beloved truck. Instead he rolls his eyes and turns as he prepares to reprimand you in a much more gentle manner than he would anyone else.

Except he doesn’t even have the chance when your lips are suddenly pressed to the corner of his mouth, your body pushing him against Sugar. His hands freeze mid air, his eyes wide open. Your hands are resting on his chest and–he can’t breathe. You pull away, inches from him and he can’t breathe, he can’t speak, he can’t move. As far as he’s concerned he isn’t even human anymore.

“Stay.” You whisper, your breath fanning over slightly chapped lips.

His lips won’t stop tingling, he can’t grasp the concept of what just occurred. He refuses to even touch you for fear that you might disappear right before him. Hell, he’s not even sure he’s allowed to.

It’s difficult to gauge his reaction, his heavy breath lingering with the smell of his cigarette that would probably gross you out had it been anyone else but for some reason, because it’s him, you don’t mind very much. You must smell strongly of wine which isn’t always pleasant so you figure you’re even.

“Please stay.” You repeat, nudging your nose into his.

It’s like he’s in a trance, his eyelids becoming lazy and his body relaxing when you reach up to trace your thumb ever so slightly over his jaw. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes squeezing shut, and you can hear a gulp in his throat. With his eyes still shut, he nods and before you can process it, he launches himself into your arms in a tight embrace, wrapping himself around you, his face buried in your neck. A wetness catches against your skin catches your attention, Eddie’s body heaving slightly and you just know.

You know that the tear stains on your skin mean more to him than you could ever imagine.

Slowly, your fingers tangle in his hair, threading into the curls at the nape of his neck to lightly scratch his scalp soothingly. The way he grips onto you tighter, his body shaking, only confirms that physical touch and affection was not a luxury he was allowed in his lifetime. If he let you, you’d spend thousands of hours holding him, even in the cold. Whatever he needed.

But the snow flurries began to grow larger and the wind started to pick up. And you’d be damned if you allowed yourself and Eddie to catch a nasty cold when you could be doing the same thing inside next to the fire. Though, as you thought about it, Eddie would probably shy away from your touch in front of everyone. And that didn’t anger you in the way it normally would. Because you couldn’t blame him, someone so touch starved that he began to sob the second he was willingly kissed and told he was wanted, for shying away from showers of physical affection in front of peers that only know him to be big, bad, Eddie Munson. It would be too much of a change and you weren’t willing to force that upon him.

So as the cold grew more unforgiving, you continued to hold him. He would be the one to decide when he felt he wanted to part from you. And if you both got sick, so be it. A stupid cold would be worth the price if you were able to provide him the touch he went so long without and so badly craved, even if he didn’t quite know it at first.

Eddie parted from you far sooner than anticipated. His cheeks were rosy, his rounded nose matching, endearingly so. His eyelashes were dotted with a few lingering tears, his eyes rimmed with red but sadness was absent from his features. Instead there was a fondness dripping from his expression and though he parted from the embrace to gaze down at you, he still clung to you like his life depended on it.

“Can I–can I kiss you?” He whispers shakily.

You want to laugh, only because he’s acting as if you didn’t kiss him in the first place. But you bury it deep down and only let a smile blossom.

“Please.” You whisper back.

This time, you’re more than happy to beg.

Hesitantly, his shaky hand cups your jaw, the warmth from his skin more than welcome as he gently slots his lips against yours. He’s slow with it, taking his time. As you move in rhythm with him, you encourage him, moving his arms to circle your waist, pressing yourself closer and letting your hands travel up his chest to lock behind his neck.

“I can’t stop.” He laughs quietly, continuously pecking your lips like he can’t get enough.

“Don’t.” You giggle into his mouth.

Teeth clash against teeth and though he hasn’t quite graduated to using tongue yet, you have the urge to introduce him. Before you can pass your tongue along his plump bottom lip, he curses under his breath as he pulls away, only causing worry to spread across your face.

“You’re freezing.” His hands rub up and down your arms to somewhat heat you up and only then do you realize your face feels completely numb.

“No, I’m fine.” You protest against your better judgment. It wasn’t exactly fitting to be in tights while one of the first snow falls of the year ensued.

“You’ll be a popsicle in like three seconds.”

Eddie softly smiles, reaching for your hand and tugging you with him toward the house. A whine escapes you, a pathetic whimper but you manage to shuffle yourself along with him. Before entering the realm of reality beyond the front door, Eddie turns to you, stars in his eyes, something glimmering.

“How’s my nose? Snotty?” He grins, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels @aysheashea @dashingdeb16

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #smoke signals #eddie munson au #stranger things fic #stranger things au #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic

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wosowrites · 1 year

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Greece and Wives (Patri Guijarro x Reader)

warnings: none

a/n: based off this request here

prompt: little moments on vacation with your wife Patri.

Vacation with Patri meant different things. It meant some late, late nights walking the streets of Greece, and some early, early nights cuddling in bed and watching a movie on of the limited channels on the hotel TV. But it mostly meant just feeling good. You both shopped together, having fashion shows and figuring out what to buy. You would bicker on where to have lunch and eventually, you would win because she just could not say no to you. You would swap shoes with her when she decided mid walk that the ones you were wearing worked better with her outfit. Everything was perfect.

Day one:

Patri woke you up bright and early by opening the blinds with one big movement and then jumping on top of you in the bed. By bright and early, it meant more like 9:00, but it felt like 7:00 am and you most definitely were not an early bird. "Wake up, mi amor," Patri said to you, brushing hair out of your face and kissing you. "Mhm im awake, i’m awake," you groaned. She smiled down at you and before she knew it, you had thrown your arms around her and pulled her back down onto you. "We should just stay like this all day," you said to her, playing with the hair on the nape of her neck with one hand and dragging your nails up her back with the other. "We’ll get hungry," Patri laughed. "Room service," you said to her. "Baby… it’s Greece! I love you but-" your spanish girlfriend started saying. "I know, I know. Let’s go," you groaned.

Eventually you guys managed to leave the hotel and head out to a little café. Your hotel was a ten minute walk from the water, and the terrasse you ate at looked upon the ocean. You had planned out you four day trip perfectly, only having a small amount of time before needing to return to Barcelona to pack to leave for your individual training camps in preparation for the World Cup. The first day would be spent doing guided tours, looking at architecture and parks. The second day you would do traditionally fun things, like go to arcades and have a picnic. The third day would be a beach day and then the last day would be spent shopping.

"I knew Athens was old, but this old? And this… historic. It’s weird," you told Patri, hand in hand as you listened to a guide tell you about the history behind the Acropolis of Athens. "Barcelona is pretty historic, you know?" Patri said to you, smiling at you. "I know, I know. But i’m Canadian! Seeing cities with ruins and the ocean and cool architecture is always shocking to me. The most historical thing we have in Canada is like… the parliament," you sighed. "Hey, don’t hate on your country now, gotta represent them at the World Cup soon," she said, squeezing your hand. "I love Canada! It’s just boring," you defended yourself, pointing absentmindedly to one particularly well kept piece of the Acropolis.

After that tour, you walked around the city with no specific goal in mind. "Ooh! Gelato!" Patri said, pointing at a cute little shop with a pink gelato sign. "Woah… gelato before lunch? I like this version of you baby," you said to her, jokingly running your hand up her abs and kissing her quickly. "Oh shush. What harm will it do? The season is over, we’ll be under so many rules before the cup… let loose mi amor!" she said to you.

And so you did. That day, you had gelato three times.

Day two:

Needless to say, you and Patri were extremely competitive... which only made arcade games more fun. Once you arrived to a popular but pretty empty arcade due to the fact that it was Monday, you had an idea. "How about we make this interesting?" you said after choosing your first game. "Hmm... what do you have in mind mi amor?" Patri asked. "The person with the most tickets at the end of two hours has to pay for anything the other wants when we go shopping," you proposed. "Oh easy!" Patri exclaimed.

She was so wrong. Growing up with four brothers made you extremely good at video games, and somehow, luck was always on your side. By the hour and a half mark, you had almost twice as many tickets as Patri. "How the hell are you doing this?" she groaned, pulling out ten tickets from the machine as you watched about 60 pour out and into your hands. "You shouldn't have underestimated me," you shrugged. "Okay. I give up, you win! Im calling it quits," she groaned. "YES! I WINNNN!" you exclaimed as your girlfriend watched you throw your hands up in the air. "Yeah yeah," she said, rolling her eyes. "How about we put our tickets together and buy the rainbow monkey," you said, pointing at a pretty big prize hanging from the ceiling. "Hmm... okay. Do we have enough?" she asked you, pulling out a couple tickets. "Well with your 300 and my 1300, yeah, we do," you winked at her.

You bought the monkey and then headed outside. Patri swung her arm around your waist and then pulled out her phone. She asked a woman if she would take a picture, and your spanish girlfriend kissed you and held you close to her as the woman smiled and took pictures. "You guys are beautiful," she smiled at you both kindly. You both thanked her multiple times before continuing your walk. The next stop for the day was a picnic. You stopped at a deli to get cheese, bread, charcuteries, pastries, fruit and drinks for the picnic. When you arrived at a park with blossoming trees and tall green grass, you set up your meal and ate, laughed and drank, all underneath the watchful eye of an old oak, and the monkey you had named Zeus.

Day three: Beach day! This was easily the day you were most excited for. You had already gotten a tan from just walking around the warm city, but you couldn't wait to even it out on the beach. That morning, you woke up at 8:00, quickly put on a black bikini and white beach pants, did some light makeup and put on gold jewelry before taking your turn to pull Patri out of bed. You had smoothie bowls for breakfast along with coffee and a danish and then you headed to the beach. The day could not have been better. Patri took hundreds of pictures of you, and you took thousands of Patri. She looked so cute in her bikini, you felt as though you would melt.

After an hour of tanning on the surprisingly quiet beach, Patri sat up and placed her hand on your back. She gently rubbed her hand up and down your spine, making you smile. "You want to go swim don’t you?" you laughed. You turned around to face her and she smiled at you with puppy eyes. "Okay, let’s go baby," you said, jumping up and grabbing her hand. You both started running madly. Sand flew up, your laughs were heard throughout the beach and your smiled were so bright. But when you reached the water, you had to uphold your girlfriend duties, which meant stopping your run and pushing Patri into the water. Your girlfriend fell forward with a huge splash. The water got strangely deep very quickly so she stayed under for a couple seconds.

The spaniard came back up, spluttering and coughing. "Y/n!" she yelled, looking at you with a shocked look as you smiled innocently. "Yeah?" you smiled.

Before you knew it, Patri had grabbed your waist and lifted you over her shoulder. You kicked your legs and screamed all while laughing but the spaniard was strong, and your efforts did nothing as seconds later, you were submerged in the water. When you came back up, you wiped the hair off of your face and laughed loudly. You pushed against the current to stand in front of your girlfriend, your body pressed to hers. Her hands lay lazily on your hip bones as yours wrapped around her neck. "Truce?" you asked gently. "Mhm… how could I say no to that face," she said, kissing you lovingly.

Day four:

Shopping. You had been so excited to shop, it having always been something you loved to do. And so, after sleeping in until 9:00 and leaving the hotel at around 10:00, you had a quick breakfast and then headed to the busiest street in Athens. The whole day was spent walking into shops and buying souvenirs for your friends and family as well as trying on hundreds of different pieces, mostly payed by Patri. But she didn’t mind, some of the things you bought she would have killed to see you wear every day, so she didn’t have a care in the world about paying.

You were currently in a small boutique that sold very original and colourful suits, and as you would both be attending an award ceremony soon enough, you thought that there was no better place to buy an outfit. Patri chose a purple suit to represent barcelona, and to match with her you chose an off the shoulder silk purple dress. You were excited to wear it with her.

By the time you returned to the hotel, you both had five bags of clothes and souvenirs.

You dropped the bags into a corner of the room and plopped down on the bed. "This was the best vacation ever. Thank you baby. Thank you," you said to her, turning your head and smiling at her. She was laying down next to you and her smile was wide. Her eyes traced your features and then she close the gab between the both of you. You kissed her lovingly, slipping your hand under her shirt and passing your hand on her abs. "Cant believe I need to leave you for two months now," she said sadly. "I’ll call you every day my love. Deal?" you said gently. "Deal, mi amor," she said sweetly.

#woso fic #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso #patri guijarro #barcelona femeni

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stonertora · 1 year

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Hawks with a dragon hybrid s/o

minors dni! NSFW

warnings: creampies, anal, pp in v, bloodkink (ig?), squirting, choking, spit

Fluff:

i feel like his favorite bodypart would be your wings, simply because they are way bigger than his own, at least twice his size

your wings would be made of skin, he loves touching them, they're so soft and warm

he also loves stroking your horns, they’re so colorful and match your tail

speaking of your tail, he loves it when you two cuddle and you wrap your strong tail around his waist or leg, it makes his feel safe, he’s used to make others feel safe, so it was new to him to be the one feeling safe

he just thinks you look so cute but majestic at the same time, he’d treat you like the goddess you are

would definitely show you off to everyone

your eyes have the key to his heart fr, man was totally flabbergasted when he first looked at them, feeling completely lost and devoured to you

he loves watching you eat or laugh, tbh everything you do that shows your fangs, which have a weird influence on him, but in a good way,man’s totally obsessed with them

NSFW:

usually you’re the dominant, at least in your past realationships, he’d be the only one to dom you, for sure

the first times having sex with him were weird to you, being the submissive one was completely new and unknown to you, you definitely needed some time to get used to that

but you learned to completely trust him after some time, but that didn’t mean that you would make it easy for him tho 😏

jokes on him, he absolutely loves it when you ride him and choke him tho. it drives him insane, letting you have control of his breathing, his life at the very moment

he’s also so in love with your lil plump ass, you can’t get away without 2 spankings a day, at least. he mostly likes it covered in his cum

he’s always down to fuck your tight lil asshole tho. Man’s not horny rn? jus turn around and shake your cute lil ass for him, and he’s ready to to

don’t you dare tease this bird man though, he will 100% pin you down the same moment and will happily put a dildo in you pussy, a butt plug in your lil hole and a vibrator on your clit. he won’t fuck you tho. he’ll tie you up to your shared bed and leave you there for hours, and prolly watch tv while he eats sum nuggets he got from kfc later that evening

being a dragon hybrid you also have something similar to his mating season, but it’s more about fucking than love , at least it’s also about spring time. when this time comes, you two always take at least two to three weeks off work

he’s a whore for your wet cunt, he’d always tell you about how ,,it’s just made for me” or how it’s like ,,your cunt is shaped for my cock”, he’s also cumming in you a lot, cause it feels like you’re closer to each other, or maybe just because you look just so pretty, face all red from crying, his big cock fully inside your throbbing pussy, clit all swollen from the circles he rubbed in 10 mins earlier, his cum dripping out of your stretched out hole, ruining the sheets

you’re a whore for his neck kiss sessions, soft lips caressing the flesh of your soft skin, short little moans leaving your throat, just so desperate for him, hoping for him to cover your soft flesh in purple love bites for everyone else to see ❤️

once he bit down you neck a little too hard, making you bleed, he felt so bad and kept apologizing for hurting his princess, but at the same time it made his blood flush to his cock, he was ashamed about it at first, who would like seeing his s/o hurt or even bleed? jokes on you, it’s him, he does. it drives him crazy seeing how the thick red liquid matches with your pale skin, he can’t explain it

let’s not forget about that he has to work a lot, due being the number 2 pro hero of Japan, so when you get home all stressed about work and he’s not able to just fuck you, he’s always more than happy to help you realax. just sit on his face, and don't you worry about your weight, he would die a happy death, if he would suffocate between your thic thighs. he just wants to please his princess

one time he wouldn't stop fingering you, even tho you told him that you actually had to pee. long story short, you couldn't handle another orgasm and started squirting. the sheets getting covered in hot liquid, you were so embarrassed, Keigo on the other side, just unlocked a new kink.

he loves to spit in your mouth, your pussy or on your tits or stomach, but mainly in your mouth or pussy, it’s something that shows how intimate you allow him to be with you, how much you trust him

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thislovintime · 5 months

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1968.

“‘Actually, I wanted to leave the group over two years ago when the first season ended, but the guys convinced me not to. I didn’t care about all the things that were happening, all the acclaim. I hated the work! It was tough, and I didn’t like it. I just wanted to record for all my life. Also, the pressure was awful. We were working in an incredibly new environment. Half of the crew on the show was young and had very little experience at that level of work. Many of them were getting their first big break. Actually, after the TV show was canceled it was easier for me to leave. Doing the TV show was the worst. Then came the movie, and I couldn’t forego the movie, so I did it. You know, there were moments here and there — lots of good, funny stuff happening throughout — but the only time that I was really happy was when we were recording the ‘Headquarters’ album. The concerts were fun, but during the concert tours you are removed from your friends except for the guys. And even when we did take a few friends along it was only a mild relief. This last tour of Australia and Japan wasn’t fun because I felt hideously under-rehearsed. I was constantly pushing for rehearsals, and they were constantly saying well, like later. We couldn’t get together. Also, we didn’t play any new music this last concert tour. It was all old tunes, nothing from our newer albums, and it was a bore. But I think they suspected I was leaving anyway. For me, a lot of the pressure was off. When I felt a part of the group every time someone said something that jarred my sensibilities, I’d raise a huge ruckus and everybody thought I was out of my mind. While we were making the TV Special, knowing I was not going to be there any longer, I just thought to myself — I don’t have to worry about this thing — and I just let everything slide off my back. They must have though something was screwy. Then I finally told them, ‘Gentlemen I’m in negotiations to resign from the group.’ And they said, ‘Okay, well, there’s not much time, we’d better get to work on this Special.’ So we taped the thing and that’s the last I saw of them. The last day of the taping they gave me this little testimonial memorial watch.’ From his pocket Peter drew out a silver, antique-looking timepiece with the back side engraved, ‘To Peter Tork, from the guys down at work.’ ‘I’m free, I don’t know what I’ll be doing. I’m actually a little apprehensive, because there’s no doubt that there are three other incredibly talented fellows out there. They’re very talented guys. Mike is one of the funniest people I’ve ever known. Micky is even funnier and Davy is just cute as a button. Who could ask for anything more? Davy dances so great, did you see him dance in the film? I’ve not seen dancing like that on the screen except from Fred Astaire. The only other thing is that I’m both really relieved and really, really apprehensive. I’m terribly glad and also terribly sad.’” - NME, January 25, 1969

“Peter and I were the bulk of the playing ability because we were musicians. But when Peter left it rather unnerved Davy and Micky — and I changed my mind [about leaving]. After all, the personal appearances were pretty well satisfying, the music was fun, and the whole thing was fairly lucrative. And Davy and Micky left alone would have been in real trouble.” - Michael Nesmith, Disc and Music Echo, September 19, 1970

"In a telephone interview this week, Tork explained why he left the group in 1968, three years after it was formed. ‘Musicians were being auditioned in an effort to create the Monkees, and the purpose was to reap money,’ he said. ‘But for our first two albums, studio musicians were hired to do the instrumentals and we just did the lead singing. I didn’t want that.’ Tork convinced the other three members, Davy Jones, [Micky] Dolenz and Mike Nesmith, to do the third album themselves. ‘But I couldn’t get the guys to go for that again, so the fourth album was half and half,’ he said. Critics had frowned on the Monkees for this. ‘Every single malcontent felt he had the right to tell me what was wrong with the situation. I took the critics to heart,’ Tork said. ‘When I talked to the guys about it, they told me if I want more I should get my own act.’ Tork describes his current relationship with Jones, Dolenz and Nesmith as ‘cordial.’ ‘I learned to put all my bitterness behind me,’ he said. ‘I hear about them through the grapevine, but we have no real call to talk to each other, although, I had a brief lunch with Davy Jones in Japan recently.’ When Tork joined the Monkees in October 1965, he was 23 years old and inexperienced in handling fame and fortune. ‘There’s a lot of things involved with money and recognition, and the price was much higher than I expected,’ he said. ‘There’s an isolating pressure that goes along with success. I couldn’t handle it.’" - article by Lisa Stenza, Connecticut Daily Campus, February 26, 1982 (read more in an older post)

#Peter Tork #Tork quotes #Davy Jones #Micky Dolenz #Michael Nesmith #The Monkees #Monkees #long read #Peter and Davy #Peter and Micky #Peter and Michael #can you queue it

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41319kbex · 4 months

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Hell Hath No Fury

I apologize in advance for any feelings you have while reading this. I just…had angsty Beckett in my mind tonight. I felt the need to feel the special kind of hurt that only an emotionally tortured Beckett…or more accurately, the special kind of hurt that only an emotionally charged performance by Stana Katic can make me feel. I need to feel that kind of hurt that comes from the uncanny way she can somehow make Kate Beckett a 4D character, making me feel what she’s feeling through the TV screen. So…that’s mostly how this story happened.

This changes the ending of the season 3 finale so that Castle takes the bullet for her. I’m really, really sorry if this story makes you feel things. I only hope my words can do half of what Stana would do with the material.

I don’t own the show or the characters. But angsty Beckett has been in my mind all day, living rent free.

xxxxx

Staring out the window at the hospital, she couldn’t help the tears that slipped down her cheek as she replayed the events that brought her here. She’d been giving the eulogy at Montgomery’s funeral…and before she’d known what had happened, she’d been tackled to the ground as a shot rang out. When she’d heard it, she’d expected to feel the bullet tearing through her flesh, but all she felt was the weight of the man who had tackled her. The man who was her partner.

A strangled sob escaped her lips as she thought of Castle. Castle, who was so innocent in all of this, who was now here because of her. Her mind went back to the cemetery.

“Castle!” she murmured, realizing a second later that he’d been shot. “No!” she moved from underneath him and immediately rolled him onto his back. She saw the blood soaking through his clothes. “No! No, no, no…” she murmured, doing everything she could to stop the bleeding.

“Castle…Castle, don’t do this. Stay with me, ok?” she pleaded with him. “Stay with me…” she murmured as the tears slipped down her cheeks. He hadn’t responded, hadn’t moved. She could at least tell he was breathing…barely.

Another sob escaped her lips. There had been so much blood. Blood that was still on her skin, her clothes. She replayed the ambulance ride…the way her own heart had stopped when he flatlined and they had to shock him back. He’d been in surgery for the past 2 hours. A nurse had come out to let them know the surgery would still be another couple of hours. But Beckett hadn’t been able to leave, hadn’t been able to bring herself to even get cleaned up.

Lanie, Ryan and Esposito were in the waiting room, but all three of them had given her space. They were worried about Castle, of course; but they had never seen Beckett like this.

“One of us needs to go talk to her...convince her to at least get the blood off her,” Ryan said

quietly.

Esposito studied her for a moment before looking at his partner. “You want to volunteer to get your head bit off? Because I'm pretty sure that's what's going to happen the moment any of us go over there. I’m not telling her she needs to go anywhere.”

Lanie took a deep breath. “I’ll go talk to her, since neither one of you want to man up,” she shot them both a look. She approached her friend carefully, knowing this was going to be a tough conversation. She also knew the conversation would get a lot harder if someone came out of the operating room and told her Castle hadn’t made it. She knew her friend could take a lot, but she honestly wasn’t sure if that wouldn’t be the final thing to break her. “Hey, Kate…how are you holding up?” she asked, keeping her voice soft.

Beckett drew a ragged breath, a few fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. “I’m fine,” she stated lowly, withdrawing deeper into herself.

“Honey, you are not fine,” Lanie stated simply, her tone still soft, being very gentle with her best friend.

Swallowing hard, Beckett finally turned her head away from the window to look at Lanie, the heartbreak evident all over her face.

“Oh honey,” she embraced her friend then, her heart breaking for the other woman.

Beckett couldn’t help it. The understanding embrace from her friend broke the dam and she couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. “I watched him die in that ambulance, Lanie,” she murmured. “I watched him die…and my heart stopped for a minute too when they almost didn’t get him back…” A sob escaped from her. “This was supposed to be me…he’s here because of me…”

Lanie gave her friend a few moments to get it all out so that she’d be able to listen. Only when Beckett had pulled back from the hug did Lanie release her. “Kate…” she started, trying to find the words to comfort her friend. She didn’t think now was exactly the best time to deal with the can of worms known as Beckett’s feelings for the writer that hadn’t just been opened but had pretty much exploded because of the events that had transpired, so she tried to find some kind of words to offer her some kind of comfort. Though she knew the only comfort that would make any kind of difference would be a doctor or nurse coming out to tell them that Castle was going to be fine. “Castle is going to make it through this,” she started.

“How do you know?”

“The fact that no one has come out with bad news is a good sign. No news is good news right

now.”

“God, Lanie…there was so much blood…” she breathed, a few more tears sliding down her cheeks.

The woman was quiet for a moment, trying to decide how to best go about the task of suggesting her friend leave long enough to get cleaned up. “Speaking of blood…how about we get you cleaned up, hmm?” she suggested. Seeing the look Beckett gave her at the suggestion did cause the medical examiner to pause before deciding to try another approach. “Kate…I’m not suggesting you leave. Just come with me…we’ll find a place to get you washed up…Ryan told me he has a clean set of sweats in his trunk. You can get the blood off you, change clothes…” she took a deep breath. “Castle’s mother and daughter are in the waiting room. I’m sure they’d love it if you joined them…but you need to not have his blood on you when you go over there,” she tried again.

Beckett swallowed hard at the mention of Martha and Alexis. “Oh God, Lanie…they must hate me right now…that bullet was meant for me…”

“They don’t hate you,” Lanie interrupted. “And stop going down that rabbit hole. It doesn’t matter who the bullet was meant for. Now come on.” She placed a gentle hand on Beckett’s elbow and when her friend didn’t push her away, she gave Ryan a nod to go get the extra clothes as she led her friend down the hallway to find a place to help her get cleaned up and changed.

xxxxx

The door to the bathroom had just closed and Beckett had moved to the sink to start washing her hands. That’s when the shock…realization…set in that it was Castle’s blood. She was covered in Castle’s blood. As a homicide detective, the sight of blood no longer phased her…she’d seen more than her fair share in the years on the job. But suddenly the knowledge the the blood covering her belonged to Castle was something she just could not process. “Oh God…God…Lanie, get it off…get it off…get it off…” she started to panic.

Lanie barely had time to get the door locked before her friend was freaking out. “Kate…hey…hey, get what off?” she tried to calm her down.

“The blood…his blood…” she breathed, completely falling apart then as her back slid down the wall and she sank to the floor. “His blood…I’m covered in his blood…Lanie…he can’t…he can’t…he has to be okay…” she was sobbing now, struggling to breathe through the pain in her own chest.

“Oh Kate…honey…just breathe…” she murmured, feeling completely helpless to help her friend. She started getting some paper towels and wetting them with cold water to start cleaning the dried blood off of her hands, hoping that washing the blood away would help at least some. She

had never seen her friend like this; even when she knew Beckett had issues with certain things, or when something bad had happened to her; she’d definitely had her share of needing to comfort her friend, like when Will had left her. But Lanie had never seen her break like this.

It took almost an hour for Lanie to get Beckett cleaned up; it had taken over 25 minutes for her to be able to get her friend breathing normally again after she’d completely fallen apart. And now, the woman who walked out of the bathroom in a set of NYPD sweats had managed to pull it together. It was still obvious she’d been crying…it wasn’t like she had makeup to be able to hide that, but she wasn’t going to break at the moment. At least as long as no one came out with any kind of bad news.

Slowly, cautiously, Beckett approached Martha. “Martha?” she kept her voice soft. Seeing the older woman stand, she wasn’t sure who embraced whom. “I am so, so sorry…” she apologized as she held the other woman tightly.

“It’s not your fault, Katherine…” Martha stated as she clung to the detective. Finally releasing the embrace, she knew all too well the look in the younger woman’s eyes. Fear. Love. Fear that the man she loved wasn’t going to come back to her. She’d seen those emotions mirrored in her son’s eyes as well regarding the woman in front of her. “No one blames you, dear.”

Beckett knew she needed to seek out Alexis. She knew better than anyone the pain Alexis was feeling right now. She’d been in her shoes when she’d been just a few years older than Alexis. Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, she was determined to be strong for the girl. Her need to be there for Alexis had currently pushed away the crushing weight of her mother’s case, how similar this was to what had happened to her mother. “Alexis…” she approached softly.

Alexis had adopted a stance at the hospital window, much the way Beckett had at the other end of the hallway before Lanie had come to talk to her. She didn’t say anything, didn’t even acknowledge Beckett’s presence; she simply stared out the window.

“Alexis…he’s going to be okay…” she started softly, echoing the words Lanie had told her not even a full hour earlier, and managing to make herself sound much more confident than she felt.

“How do you know that?” Alexis spun on the older woman then. “You can’t know that, because you’re not a doctor! You’re a cop…a cop who my dad has been following around…a cop who was supposed to keep my dad safe…” she started in on her.

Beckett said nothing, just let the girl vent. She knew more than anyone how she was feeling. The hurt, the fear. She’d prepared herself for this. “I know,” she stated simply once the girl was done. “I was supposed to protect him. He’s my partner…and I didn’t hold up my end. And I’m sorry,” she apologized. “But he’s going to be okay,” she insisted again. Why couldn’t she just believe those words yet, though?

“My dad was only there because of you.”

Those words cut through her like a dull knife. “I know.” She swallowed hard. “And that’s something I have to carry with me for the rest of my life.”

The detective’s words caused Alexis to soften slightly. She took in the older woman’s appearance; she’d been crying. She looked like she was trying to be strong, but Alexis was mature enough to see the worry in her eyes, the guilt that was there. She was mature enough to realize that blaming Detective Beckett for her father’s situation was not going to help anyone; if anything, it would make matters worse. This was hard for her too. It was then that she moved from the window and pulled Beckett into a bone-crushing hug, letting her tears of worry fall.

Beckett just held her tightly. Quite honestly, she wasn’t sure if the hug was more for her benefit or Alexis’s. But she knew the girl was feeling lost, scared, hurt…the emotions she’d felt the day a detective had informed her and her father of her mother’s death. Castle had once asked her to look out for Alexis if anything ever happened to him; that was a promise she was going to keep. After another few moments, Martha joined the two younger women, wrapping them both in her arms as well.

Lanie, Esposito and Ryan watched as Beckett insisted on remaining strong for Castle’s mother and daughter.

“She gonna be ok?” Esposito asked Lanie after a moment.

She was quiet for a moment before answering. “Not if he doesn’t make it,” she answered quietly.

It was at that moment a nurse came through the doors. “Who is here for Mr. Castle?” The entire group moved over to her in answer to the question. “The doctor will be on his way out momentarily to talk to you.”

Beckett felt her heart drop. That didn’t sound like good news. And a moment later when the doctor came through those doors, her heart dropped again for a different reason when she saw it was Josh. Her boyfriend. The boyfriend she hadn’t thought about, hadn’t even remembered was working today in this hospital. Of course he had to be the doctor. The only relief she felt was from the fact that she knew he was damn good at his job.

“Josh…is he okay?” she asked.

The doctor studied the group, including his girlfriend…the look on her face; he could tell by the way she looked, whatever was between her and her partner was more than she felt for him. “Mr. Castle is alive. He’s as stable as he can be at the moment. He’s not out of the woods yet, but

he’s being moved into the ICU and you’ll be able to see him soon.”

Kate’s eyes met those of her boyfriend and knew this had told him everything he’d needed to know, everything she’d been denying for months about Castle. He was more than her partner. “Thank you,” she breathed.

He nodded and after giving her a long look, headed back through the doors.

About half an hour later, a nurse came back out. “Mr. Castle is in a private room in the ICU. You can come back, but no more than three at a time.”

“You guys go ahead. We’ll wait right here,” Ryan told the three women who were most worried about him.

Beckett gave them a grateful look, and Ryan nodded his head with a small smile before the three woman who cared most about the man followed the nurse back to his room.

xxxxx

She sensed the relief in both Martha and Alexis as they saw Castle in his hospital bed, still sedated and hooked up to machines, but at least alive and with a steady heartbeat. It felt like a punch in the gut to see him there, knowing it was in her place. She watched as Alexis and Martha moved to his bedside, both moving chairs closer to him. It was only after an encouraging look from Martha that Beckett stepped closer to stand at the other side of his bed. She was silent as she studied him, her fingers absently running ever so lightly along the top of his hand. “See, Alexis…I told you that he was going to be fine,” she offered the girl a small smile…a smile that she had perfected in her line of work.

“Thank you, Detective Beckett,” Alexis told her softly.

“Kate. You can call me Kate.”

Alexis nodded and offered a smile that looked like it mirrored the one Beckett had given her. “Kate.”

After another couple of moments, Beckett took a deep breath. “I’m going to give you guys some privacy with him. Please text or call if you need anything…or if anything happens before I make it back,” she told them, giving each woman a gentle shoulder squeeze.

Alexis didn’t really notice, but Martha knew enough stories from her son to know what the detective was most likely going to do. She stood and pulled her into a hug. “Take care of yourself Katherine. He’s going to want to see you when he wakes up,” she said lowly, just loud enough for Beckett to hear.

“I will.” And with that, Kate headed out of the room, her jaw clenching as soon as she was through the doors of the ICU. The boys and Lanie saw the look in her eyes and the way she was walking; Beckett was back…and she was on a mission.

“Beckett! Hey!” Ryan called.

“Where are you going?” Esposito asked, though judging from the look on her face, he had an idea of what her general plan was.

When she met the eyes of her friends, they saw the look of determination. “I’m going to hunt down the son of a bitch who shot him. And then I’m putting him in the ground,” she said lowly, her voice carrying a dangerous edge that they had never really heard before. She didn’t even give them a chance to say anything as she strode out of the hospital with determined, angry strides. She wasn't going to just find the shooter and bring him to justice; she was going to kill him.

xxxxx

So I can leave it there…this can be a one shot. Or I can revisit this and add more. What do you guys think? Feedback is everything!

I also don't know how active Castle fans are anymore. I've been off this site for years...so...if anyone reads this at all, I'll be happy!

#castle #caskett #beckett #kate beckett #richard castle #rick castle #castle fanfiction #caskett fanfiction

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realchemistry · 4 days

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Everything that went right and wrong with 9-1-1 season 7 (according to me, duh!)

Let me start by saying that I enjoyed the season a lot, but that doesn't mean that it was flawless and I thought the finale didn't deliver. So, this is me pointing out what I did and didn't like and why, and how I wish it'd happened instead.

Also: it's a short and somewhat rushed season due to the writers' strike, this I know. You know who else knew? TPTB. So, nope, it’s not a valid excuse for any of its shortcomings. If they tried to bite off more than they could chew, that's on them.

Everyone knows that having a three-episode arc for the honeymoon was a bad choice, it was clear because the episodes dragged due to it and the Bathena drama made no sense. Let's say they had to keep up with the tradition and that it's a huge budget deal to build those sets so they had to milk them for all they were worth. Fine. It could've still been made more interesting, but wrong choices were made. I didn't appreciate the whole pirates taking over thing, and the season ended with the cartel, which... why do you want to have POCs being the bad guys so badly?

So, let's go by the assumption that having a three episode arc for Bathena's honeymoon was the only choice possible, fine... but didn't Madney deserve a lot of attention as well considering they got freaking married? Why was that not a two-parter? Why not have a first part with cases and some fun bachelor/bachelorette shenanigans, and have Chim disappearing be the cliffhanger? Why not dedicate a big chunk of the second part to that, like they did, and then actually give the wedding some breathing room? Sure, it mirrored their kiss after the whole Doug debacle but these are two main characters who got married. It's a drama show but the drama gets old if there are no bright moments in between.

The inclusion of Amir was interesting because of what it brought up in Bobby. Plus, the actor was clearly great and he was such a big deal that he, well, he was given A LOT of screentime. This made me mad because the show, as previously mentioned, was short on time as it was. Having a new character come in and have such a huge role would make sense if we were talking about a full season. As it was, his presence meant that some of our regulars were pushed to the background. Their storylines suffered for it, and while the show usually does this, it's sorta okay when screentime is divvied up between the regular cast. When it's an outsider... well, I have some issues with that. Like, we literally know more about Amir than we do about Ravi at this point. Also: Amir was clearly an amazing person and he was wronged time and time again. Athena got to play solo-cop as it's her thing, and we're supposed to think she was being heroic instead of downright wrong and abusing her power? If I were Amir, I'd sue her and I'd burn their house down for real (not really, but you know what I mean). They put this man through hell. Sure, Bobby saved him... which felt such a white savior redemption thing. And I know the show and the character said otherwise, but it still felt awful and then it just got worse. In any case, they could’ve made this story play out with more nuances instead of devoting so much of a short season to it to the detriment of our stable cast.

Buck had an amazing start of the season, finding himself and his truth and sharing it with his family. The fact that they had him entering the dating scene with a character like T*mmy... I didn't like that. Any random person would've been better. But, also, I don't wanna be that person but this is my blog so I'm gonna be: Oliver clearly hasn't been enjoying the latest interactions between these characters to the point where their scenes, few as they are, are actually hard to watch. The last one was literally the most cringe inducing moment of TV I've ever witnessed. Instead of Buck exploring himself, we have him reacting to the odd, negative and out of place comments that T*mmy keeps throwing his way. It's just weird and not at all the happy story Oliver was hoping for, so I get him. I hope this gets better next season, with BT being bones and Buck being able to thrive instead of falling back into a revamped awful dating life.

On the other hand, this season was the Buddiest of them all. Well, I mean, it had the most hints of it actually happening at some point. When Buck talked about there being underlying sexual tension in the premiere, it was just ashslgjñhjsdñgjsñdg. They were comparing Chris's interactions with girl friends and boy friends but we all know that wasn't all that was. We had Eddie talking about how much growth Buck had done from being a playboy, which funnily enough he never got to meet, to the person he's today. Another great indicator were the whole 100th/101st episodes, with Buck clearly wanting to get Eddie's attention due to jealousy, which everybody could see, and the ~reveal that the episode was from Buck’s POV which was also incredible because that man is so in love it’s just insane. But, even most importantly maybe, was Maddie's scene with Buck... It was a mirror of her calling him out on his guy crush on Eddie from season 2, with the circled with a heart around it, but the next episode it got real. To me, her words and her face spoke volumes: first she couldn’t believe Buck was with Eddie’s friend, then she told him he might not be sure of his own feelings and finally that if there’s something he needs to tell Eddie, he will, just in his own time. That was NOT about Buck being bisexual, it was Maddie reading right what Buck was reading wrong: how Buck had been jealous because of the way he feels about Eddie and how he was putting his feelings for Eddie into somebody else. Someone safe for the time being, all things considered. That's a thread waiting to be pulled when the right time comes if I ever saw one! I've been giddy just thinking about it ever since, tbh. We also had a Buddie scene in pretty much every episode, and I absolutely adored them in the bachelor party because they were so in sync, as they were all season long actually. The parallel of Eddie asking for Buck’s help at the end was nice as just that, but the story... I’ll rant about it later. I love that Oliver has been pushing the Buddie agenda harder than ever, so I'm hoping he's talking Ryan's ear off about it and that they'll demand it from Tim soon enough.

Onto Eddie, the problem with the whole Kim thing actually starts because they killed Shannon in the first place. They should've never done that, I've always thought this way. She was a great character and seeing Eddie co-parent with his ex would've been great storytelling, he could've still had a breakdown due to divorcing her or even her dating again or whatever. Besides the insanity of Kim going back to his house after learning the truth, the fact that Eddie broke down and caved in was understandable. I actually thought that was pretty well done. The problem was all that followed. We don't care about Marisol because the show never made us care about her, so her part in all of this is completely irrelevant.

As for Chris, I honestly have SO many issues with his reaction. Him being confused would only be right, but being that mad with Eddie? I honestly feel like I'm missing something because the two of them have developed such a strong relationship that it feels like Chris's reaction was totally OOC. Why wouldn't Chris want to know Eddie's side of the story? Why would he want to leave his dad and his house? Why would he want to leave the state? Why would he want to go live with his grandparents? Sure, he has a good relationship with them at this point, but we can only gather that by... imagining it, for the most part. How long since they been around? Why not mention that they were visiting or that Chris was with them when he was away to set the stage? It honestly feels like it was all improvised and they wanted to leave Eddie without Chris and this was all they could come up with. There were other ways that could've actually made more sense to get to this place, but they chose to do it in a way that's both hurtful to the characters and to their progression throughout the seasons. Make it make sense!!! There's also the fact that the finale script was all written under the assumption that Eddie and Kim were kissing when Chris showed up. That didn't actually make the cut. This is clearly a consequence of rushed scripts and filming schedules, and while we can interpret every scene saying they kissed as an exaggeration or simply a wrong interpretation of the situation, it actually made me very mad. Having characters rehash what happened the episode before so the people who missed it can catch up is normal but I hate it with my whole heart. Those people can go to hell, but if they're gonna spend time of the finale doing that, the least they could do is make the facts fact. Sure, Eddie was going insane and he said it was hard to explain but everyone in-show very much believed that Eddie kissed Kim. This is upsetting because of the exact reason why that kiss was cut, as said by Ryan in an interview this week.

On top of this, Chris is 13 years old. Eddie letting him go is not it. Eddie has every right to tell him he's staying whether he likes it or not because he's his father and he gets to decide where he lives. The show tried to make the whole thing come out as noble but I thought it was bullshit. From what we know about Eddie, he wouldn't just let him go: he would either tell Chris to stay put or go with him. The fact that, again, they clearly wanted to have Eddie alone for whatever reason, and they couldn't find a better way to pull it off... that's just bad on TPTB's part.

Hen and Karen were put through hell once more for no reason. Why can't the big obstacle for them be simply getting through Mara? Why do they have to get to a good place only for it to be ripped away? Don't say it's drama tv, I don't care, people on screen deserve happiness, damn it! They most of all, tbh, and the fact that Denny was so upset just made it 5464641636469 worse. Then we had Madney helping out, which was lovely but completely unrealistic from a legal pov and also... why can't HenRen just get what they want without a het couple's intervention? So Ortiz has enough power to get Mara away from them but she didn't know that the people wanting to foster her were part of the 118 even though she had something to do with Gerrard being reinstated? I know this is what Tim implied on his socials to explain why someone as shitty as Gerrard would be taken back by the firehouse... which, I don't know if that even makes sense? Does she have the kind of power to do any of this?

A lot of questions now:

Why was a random woman given so many precious minutes of the finale just so Athena could have a car to go after an innocent man? Why does she keep getting away with asking for personal favors, recklessly involving Maddie too? Why wouldn't the editor of the episode give us a frame at least of Buddie by Bobbie's hospital bed? This made me particularly mad because it actually looked like Oliver and Ryan were not there filming (though we knew they were), and that's why they kept showing their backs. Maybe they had lines, maybe not, but a few seconds while Chim, Hen and Maddie talked would've been nice... since it clearly seemed like nobody was particularly perturbed by Bobbie's state. I'm sorry but I can't fear for his life when his wife is away trying to get revenge and his team are just... there. Also, why are him, Athena, the aforementioned neighbor and Amir allowed to just walk into a house that suffered that much fire damage? Wouldn't the structure be compromised? Plus, Athena and Bobbie kinda were awful to Amir, first killing his wife and then accusing him and all, so why would he want to talk about anything with Bobbie, nevermind say he's earned his family? He was wronged so badly, he didn't owe them a thing, it's honestly ridiculous. Then Bobby came back so fast... but he had quit before and forgot about it? The Gerrard reveal was actually not something I hated because I love a good shake up. I bet he'll last three episodes at most. We know this isn't gonna be good exactly, and it makes zero sense, but a change in dynamics is always refreshing and could put some things into perspective. I hated when Buddie weren't partnered, but I ADORED the way Hen was weirded the fuck out by the closeness she is not used to having with Chim while on the field, so I can't wait for some of it.

Things I wanna see:

More May, more Ravi, Eddie’s sisters. More Buddie. No dating people to fill up time for either of them. Eddie’s gay/demi awakening (I swear, if this is not where his story is going, it will all feel like such a waste, much like during his previous breakdown). Chris and Mara going back home soon. Gerrard and Ortiz getting what they deserve.

This is so long it's insane, if you've read it, I thank you. If I think of anything I forgot, I'll add it later. If you have anything to contribute, please do. I'm around and I'd love to discuss this show and all its intricacies.

#911 ABC #911 #Buddie #Buck and Eddie #Eddie Diaz #Evan Buckley #Oliver Stark #Ryan Guzman #Christopher Díaz #911meta #realchemistry #tbtl #honestly Tim is responsible for a lot of heartbreak re: Angel #so I'm mostly expecting that but this season had a nice beginning to it and then...#downhill in many ways #let your characters be happy #we have enough sadness in life as it is #I didn't proofread it so... have fun with those insane tenses changes

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ye4gerism · 10 months

Text

LEON KENNEDY X BLACK!READER HEADCANONS

warnings none

author’s note this is my first attempt at any leon work😋 i’m still working my way through the resident evil series. i used greenlilys’s post to build this one! my requests are open; feel free to read my rules and request!

FIRST IMPRESSION

(i’m not sure what leon to write about, so i’ll talk about his general thoughts)

obvs he thought you were pretty hot (bc you are!!!). don’t cancel me but i feel like leon falls under that category of white men that love natural hair and braids (i hope you guys know what i mean 😭). like ofc he’d love you in whatever hairstyle you had on but the two strand twist and the box braids with curled ends got to him. leon’s the type of mf to stop you in a grocery store and be like “i like your hairdo 😄” and pull you into some sort conversation that ends up with him having your number.

YOUR FIRST TV SHOW / MOVIE TOGETHER

you swore that leon needed to get on suits. he kind of rolled his eyes at the pilot episode and was like “did you want to watch because i work in law enforcement???” (yes😶) but he ends up loving the show but not enough to watch it after season seven (ifykyk😣).

you made him watch death at a funeral (you guys should go watch!!!). he could not stop laughing. face red and everything.

DRIVING

you’re the better driver. everyone knows leon is shit at driving and everyone questions how he even has a license. can’t even let him touch a bike. when you guys go out together, YOU drive.

‘I LOVE YOU’

i really can’t decide who would say “i love you” first but it would be such a disney movie moment.

cuddling under the night sky, your head on his shoulder, his head resting on top of yours and one of you would just blurt that three letter word and fireworks would go off.

COOKING

okay. so. for a ✋🏻, leon is pretty decent when it comes to cooking. before meeting you, he knew how to make eatable food. then he meets you and his world literally explodes (and his cooking improves even more).

MEETING YOUR FAMILY

were your parents surprised when you brought him home? yes. but did they also fall in love with him? YES. leon brought your mom flowers and was able to warm up to your dad. watching him interact with your parents felt familiar in a way; like he belonged. your parents loved how respectful he was and his humor.

‘I LOVE YOU’ PT 2

if anything, leon says “i love you” most. if not verbally, through his actions. he leaves you little notes - in your bags, your shoes, in your make up bag. he gets snacks ready for you without acting. he likes to surprise you with items off your wishlist. the man just loves you sm!

#black reader #black yn #leon kennedy x black reader #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil x black reader #resident evil x reader

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royallyprincesslilly · 1 year

Text

Title: True Peace {One-Shot}***

Lewis Hamilton x Undefined FWB Best Friend Reader

Warning: Fluff, 18+ Mature Content, NSFW, SMUT, Male & Female Receiving, Mild Crude Language, No Glove Lovin, Mild Angst

Words: 3.6

Summary: Lewis' tension and stress levels are at an all time high and it has him in quite a mood. Luckily there is one person he can always count on.

Note: While writing this I envisioned reader from “One Night”, so there are slight references to that fic relationship. You guys are free to envision anyone you like or even yourself.

As always, thank you for reading. I appreciate it.

If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! ❤️❤️

***NOT Edited/Proofread***

~~~~~~~~~~~~

To say he was in a bad mood was putting it mildly. He was in one of the worst moods he'd allowed himself to be in for a while. It had been a shit week, with shit results where he'd had to take more than enough shit. It was too early in the season to be dealing with a repeat of seasons past. He was beyond tired, beyond annoyed and just feeling done.

It had been a while since he'd felt these emotions and the last time he found himself in a funk like this it was you who sat with him for an entire night until the sun was bighting the sky the next day playing video games with him, not letting him beat you in MK, Street Fighter or DC vs. Marvel but then peacefully taking all the Ls when he won every F1 driving round.

Then when he got tired of playing you listened as he vented everything that was weighing on him until there was nothing more to say and he fell silent leaving only the sounds of the city outside trying to burst the bubble of peace and contentment. Then you'd both fall asleep on the couch watching cartoons.

After your relationship changed after that one night, one afternoon and several nights, mornings and afternoons since, it ended with you gently sliding onto his lap and hug his head to you while letting him squeeze you as tightly as he wanted. After venting it always left him feeling hopeless and vulnerable and needed to anchor to something. It was you he anchored to. You he found solace in.

It was comforting and dangerous all at once. It was a danger neither of you needed, let alone him. It was that reason he did not call or text you to come over even though he could feel himself ripping apart at the seams. It was like drowning and then pointedly ignoring the lifebuoy in front of you. It was stupid but sometimes there was necessary stupidity.

Sighing, he turned off the water in the shower but stood there for a few more moments letting the water drip from his body. The shower was supposed to relieve some of the weight bogging him down, but it barely worked. He still felt encumbered by more than his body weight, it was the weight of all his ambition and expectations and disappointments.

Did he expect too much from everyone? From himself? Did he want too much?

They were questions he'd asked himself many times before, questions he never seemed to be able to answer. After he'd slipped into his walk-in closet, he went through his routine though every motion took more and more effort. By the time he'd finished and slipped on a comfortable t-shirt and grey sweat shorts he was ready to just get lost in something distracting and probably bad for him.

Planting himself on the couch in front of the tv, he let the light of the screen light up the room while he silently scrolled through his social media. Again, your face popped into his mind as he looked at the messaging button. He knew the last thing you'd spoken about in DMs. It was barely three days ago, and he'd been the worst texter with one or two word replies. You hadn't called him out on it so hopefully you hadn't taken offense.

Just then he heard the sing-song tone of his door opening while his phone lit up with the alert that someone had walked inside. There was a limited amount of people who had keys to his house, but everyone would have called or texted before they came. They knew and respected his rules.

"Lewis?"

At the sound of your voice his belly flipped and heart rapidly thudded. It was a reaction that had only intensified over the months since your relationship drifted to the other side of platonic.

"Lewis? I know you're here. Find my big dick bff with benefits pinged you here."

He was tempted to snort but his mood wouldn't allow him. When he saw you appear you had both your hands filled with bags. You smiled then walked to the kitchen.

"I cooked your favorite dish earlier and thought through the goodness of my heart I would share and not eat it all."

You placed the bags on the large island then started unpacking the glass containers. His eyes raked over your back taking in the way your tight skirt hugged your hips and showed every curve you possesed. You were bad from the beginning but now you were fine as fuck. He felt his body come alive and knew just what distraction h was going to have.

"I know you don't like people showing up unannounced, but I am using my exception card to veto that shit outta here and if you don't like it oh well, I'm already here."

You walked across the kitchen to put the bags away in a drawer and he watched you bend over. For the love of God, you looked so good. Over the last several months, he's gotten very well aquatinted with your body. He knew every inch, every dip, curve, and slope. He knew your reactions and knew everything you needed before you even said a word. He had new admiration for your body, new love for it.

With a sigh, he stood and sidled across the room to you. Before you could move, he was right behind you. Your signature scent bombarded him, Lotus, Peony, Lemon Verbena, and lite notes of vanilla. Your scent was all over this place but long gone from his skin. It was time to rectify that. Inhaling deeply, he let your scent wrap around him like a cocoon of comfort and warmth.

"How much can you handle tonight?"

Your body stiffened letting his hand rest against your belly. A thought of breeding you attacked him and that thought made him so much harder he was sure he could poke a hole through his shorts. He felt you lean your back against his chest giving him your weight. He didn't feel encumbered though, he liked the feel of you against him especially in a nonsexual capacity.

"Uh--we--well it depends," you purred, your voice hinting at your playful mood.

He turned your head to the side then brushed his face against the side of your face, his lips lingered against your jaw. He then pushed you forward so your front and face were pressed against the wall while he pressed up against your ass making sure you felt every hard inch of him. Your moan was wanton and matched the rising desire within himself. He could envision the way you looked right now--eyes closed; teeth sunk into your bottom lip.

God, you'd always been perfect to him. The perfect fit for him in more than one way, hell all ways. Shaking his head, he suppressed any thought like that. He would not go there, would not entertain any thoughts as such because that was not how tonight would go. It wasn't what tonight was for.

"Fuck, you're so hard," you mewled.

He grabbed the back of her neck.

"Tonight, you only say these words. Yes, No, Please, Deeper, I love your dick, Fuck me harder, I'm cumming. Understood?"

"What about--."

He cut your words off with a sharp slap across your ass. You gasped, flinched and moaned all at once.

"Lewis--."

For further emphasis on what you'd done wrong, he hiked your tight skirt up around your hips then groaned when your bare ass was revealed to him. He then ripped your thong off of you and finally cupped your sex. Again, you gasped.

"Again. Yes, No, Please, Deeper, I love your dick, Fuck me harder, I'm cumming. That's it. I've had a horrible week and I'm beyond frustrated, and I'd hate to obliterate that beautifully tight pussy. So, you're gonna obey me and take every inch of this long thick dick. Every fucking inch. Understood?"

You whimpered like an injured cub and the hardness in his pants impossibly increased. He was going to completely wreck your shit whether you obeyed or not. He squeezed your sex tighter dipping two of his digits inside your molten lava core. You released a high-pitched sigh as you bared down trying to take more than he gave. Naughty girl, he thought and chose to reward that naughtiness by adding a third finger.

"Mmmm!"

"Understood?"

"Yes," you panted.

"Good girl. Now get on your knees and put this dick down your throat."

Pulling his fingers free he watched you turn and drop to your knees. He dipped his fingers in his mouth and licked your juices savoring the sweetness of you. He noticed you watching and offered you one of his fingers to finish off. You seductively licked and sucked his fingers clean giving him a preview of what his dick was in store for.

"Get to it. This dick ain't gonna suck itself."

You pulled his shorts down along with his boxer-briefs and watched his dick bob in the air before you. Grabbing him with both hands, you jerked his need in both your hands moving in different directions. A low sigh escaped him as he watched you prepped him. Your hands felt so good, soft and gentle, but powerful. When you guided him to your mouth he watched as you circled your though around his head then suck it between your lips only to pull it free seconds later.

"Gah!"

He should have expected this. You'd always been a tease. It was what you enjoyed. You liked driving him crazy, liked seeing how far you could push him before it was too far. You even liked when he was too far gone. The feel of your lips sliding down his shaft brought him back to the present. You lowered your mouth down his length until he'd disappeared completely in your mouth. For show, you wiggled your fingers in the air as if to say, "look no hands".

Cheeky little minx, he thought.

Thrusting forward, he lodged himself in your throat then held your head still when he felt you retreating. Your eyes locked and understanding shined through. You shook your head while opening your mouth wider and the feel of the angles in your throat sent his head back. You slurped his flesh then bobbed on his dick never letting him escape the tight confines of your hot and hungry throat.

"Fuck, Y/N!"

He released your head and lifted off his shirt. The short reprieve allowed you to pull your lips off of him, however seconds later you'd brought them back to wholeheartedly suck on him. With your hands attached to your lips the suction of your mouth and swirl of your hands drove him so much closer to his release. He bit into his bottom lip then drove forward fucking your mouth with quick, deep strokes. You took everything he gave no matter the speed or the force and the sight of it only made him want you even more.

"Shit!"

Pulling from your mouth, he squeezed the base of his dick hoping to stave off the strong urge to cum across your lips.

"Come here."

You stood and he instantly went to the zip at your hips. He yanked them down then completely ignored the buttons on your blouse and ripped it open. You didn't complain or argue. You stood before him in just your bra now and a look of complete seduction on your face. He couldn't hold himself back anymore.

Dipping down he lifted you, hoisting you onto him. You wrapped your legs around his waist as his lips claimed yours. The urgency of his kiss matched yours and together it made a sweltering amount of hunger. You sucked his tongue as he walked back to the living room.

Standing before the large sectional couch, you held yourself onto him with the sheer power of your thighs around him. Once he unhooked your bra, you allowed the garment to fall from you and his hands cupped your mouth-watering breasts. Using his thumb he swiped across your nipples, thoroughly enjoying the way your back arched and you jutted them out to him every time he did it. He couldn't get enough of you.

Lowering you to the couch, he looked over you pressing the way you looked to memory. Perfection wasn't the right word. He needed one that meant so much more.

"Flawless."

You smiled then beckoned him forward. He dipped down hovering over you and kissed you once, then twice before he kissed a trail down the center of your body to your dripping core. After placing a sloppy open-mouthed kiss right against your clit, he went to work. He didn't plan on going slow or teasing you until you begged him to fuck you, no he planned on ruining you right off the bat.

Slurping your flesh, he flicked his tongue wildly across your clit then delved it inside of you. You gasped then gripped his free hanging braids as you rocked across his mouth.

"Mmm, yes, yes, yes! Fuck yes!"

He bit down on your clit, it wasn't enough to hurt but enough to send a jolt through you.

"Ah, Lewis!"

It was a reminder to you about your words but when you wrapped your thighs around his head, he knew you liked the bite. Fuck, he thought. You were too perfect for him. You loved mixing pain with your pleasure just as much as he did. Prying your legs apart, he pressed them down to the couch then slammed into you. Your scream echoed throughout the open concept first floor of his home, and it fed his ego even more. The euphoria he felt being inside of you nearly had him spilling his seed on contact, but he fought the urge with everything in him.

"I love your fucking dick!"

You reached for him pulling him completely into your body. A growl escaped him as you clenched around him tempting him further.

"Fucking hell!"

"Fuck me harder. Fuck me Lewis!"

That was just what he did. Flicking his hips forward, he slammed into you hard enough that your breasts swung. With another thrust then another he rocked into you with reckless abandon increasing his speed until he was jackhammering into you.

"Fuck! Yes. Yes. Yes!"

You gripped your breasts as your back arched off the couch. He could see the goosebumps prickling your skin telling him how close you were.

"Does princess love this dick?"

"Yes!"

"Does princess want more?"

You nodded unable to form words.

"Beg for it."

You whined as he ground his hips into you.

"Pl--pl--please. More--please fuck me deeper."

He spanked across your clit making your body jolt.

"I'm cumming Lewis!"

He watched you cum all over his dick and he lost it then. Before you came down, he flipped you onto your knees so your chest was pressed against the back of the couch with your ass poking out to him. After gripping your rounded derrière, he lifted then released allowing it to rise and fall as it willed. He loved your ass, and you knew he did. He watched you gyrate sending your ass bouncing against his needy shaft. With every bounce he became more and more mesmerized.

How could you still get him like this after all these months? How hadn't he gotten tired of your tricks? It still felt like the first time, still felt new like something he never wanted to stop doing. You were it.

Without wasting anymore time, he propelled himself forward filling you once again. Just as he was about to move you beat him to it. You bounced on him again flicking your hips back and forth fucking him, taking from him what you needed. A heavy-handed slap landed across your ass making you flick your head backward. Grabbing the back of your neck, he pulled you to him and held you right there and lost himself in you and the ecstasy you gave him.

"Yes, Y/N. You have no fucking idea what you do to me."

"Harder!"

Obeying, he gave you every fucking thing he had and when you screeched and braced your hand over his, he knew you'd begged for too much. Yet still, you took it and whimpered the entire time. Soon he was chasing his release and lost in the sensations he felt, lost in the stress and disappointment that was leaking out of every pore of his body. You were infusing him with so much more, pleasure, peace, harmony, contentment, joy, and so much light. The heaviness he'd felt all week melted away, the tension his body held on to faded making him feel nimble and carefree.

Somehow you felt like salvation. Biting down just where your neck and shoulder met, he lost all control and shattered filling you with every drop of his seed, every single drop. As you screamed, he burrowed deeper and deeper inside of you wanting only to remain right where he was for as long as he could. Every worry he'd had before was gone and replaced with you, a hunger and need he knew he would never be able to satiate.

"Aaah!"

Your moans and pants melded together as you both relished the intoxicating pleasure your coupling brought. He reluctantly pulled from you and tumbled to the couch but seconds later you'd crawled over him and slipped him back inside of you then laid your head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around you then sighed as if he'd found his peace.

Slowly, he expressed everything in his heart. He told you everything he'd kept in this entire week, all his frustrations, his worries, his stress--everything. You said not one word, you listened while rubbing soothing circles onto his neck urging him to continue until he felt better. He didn't know how you knew he needed you, but he was so fucking thankful to have you in his life. He was so grateful that when the context of your friendship changed nothing else had between you.

When he finished, several minutes of silence stretched. His body relaxed even more, and his thoughts slowed until he felt more like his usual self. After a few more minutes of silence, you kissed his chest right over his lion tattoo.

"You are this lion. Strong, powerful, commanding, brave, unique, caring, ambitious. It is your perfect spirit animal."

Again you kissed his chest. "You are powerful beyond measure. Don't every doubt that Lewis."

You lifted your head, cupped his chin forcing him to look at you. His throat became tight with emotion that you easily dug up in him.

"You do not expect too much from people. You expect the levels you give to everyone around you--100%. You expect what you give of yourself--loyalty, dedication, everything. Everything you expect from yourself is not too much, it's called ambition, it's called drive. You have all of it babe. You have the vision, you have the ambition, you have the will and drive. Everything you deserve will come to you, every greatness in this world and this life plus the next is coming love and I will be there every single step of the way. Every boulder you have to push I have your back and I'll push it with you."

No matter how many times he swallowed the lump in his throat wouldn't go down and he knew he must have looked so open and vulnerable right now, but it was a level of vulnerability he was comfortable showing only you.

"So--I don't want too much?"

"Fuck no. You should want it all cause that is what you deserve. Every motherfuckin thing."

He smiled, grabbed your face and pulled your lips to his. There was no hurry in this kiss, he wanted you to know how much he appreciated you, how much he truly cared for you. Slowly his tongue swirled around yours as one of his hands roamed down your back. You moaned against his lips quickly getting into the kiss. You nibbled his bottom lip and wrapped your arms around his neck.

His heart beat so wildly the vibrations went all through him. Three words pounded in his head. Three words that he'd often felt near bursting to utter but had restrained himself every time. Those three words were at the tip of his tongue right now and at not one of his brain's finer moments he let them lose--against your lips.

You pulled back from him with your brow crooked. "What was that?"

He laid there frozen in place as his mind ran through a plethora of scenarios, reactions and endings. He had no confidence in any of them though. Sighing he smiled softly.

"Thank you."

You snorted. "For the fuck?"

"For being the only place I can find true peace."

You held his gaze for a few moments then you gently clutched his chin before you softly kissed him.

"Anytime. You know I gotchu."

He held his pinky up and you rolled your eyes. "So childish," you replied as you hooked your pinky with his. Both of you then kissed the other's pinky sealing the unspoken vow between you.

Forever whenever you need me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fanfiction #f1 fanfiction #f1 imagine #true peace one shot #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton imagines

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elialys · 2 months

Note

Per your lovely, lovely flawed show tag, I am curious what you think the flaws of Fringe are?

I’m sorry it took me so long to answer, I got distracted!

Fringe definitely had its share of flaws. I won’t even address the ones that can “be excused” by the fact that it was a show made before/early 2010s in terms of representations/inclusions, because you know, it is what it is.

I think my biggest ‘regret’/annoyance has always been the writers’ tendency to…shove traumas under a rug, or to not properly (if at all) talk about the consequences of some events that happened. I get that they had to make the characters go through a lot of drama because that’s the point of stories, especially on TV shows that have over 20 episodes per season, but the characters suffered through some terrible stuff time and time again, and they were just FINE. And it’s not like they didn’t know how to do it!

I’ve always loved the first few episodes of season 2 because they showed recovery. Olivia had a bad car accident, then she had to kill “Charlie”, and it took her time to get better from all of that, not just physically but emotionally, too. And yet, over and over again after that, she goes through horrible things and there’s…almost nothing? Like, I adore Marionette, I think it’s a brilliant episode through & through, but I still can’t believe Olivia went through all the shit she went through Over There (and coming back) and didn’t have some serious PTSD, on top of EVERYTHING ELSE she’d already gone through (aka why I wrote Shivered Bones). Peter too was barely allowed to mention what Walter did to him after he came back at the end of season 2, barely ever allowed to mention what Altlivia did to him either, except in some awkward bits of dialogue (I will discuss Peter’s character a bit more later).

Also, the whole REWRITING THE TIMELINE at the end of season 3?? Biggest cop-out. I mean, I’ve never hid the fact that any kind of ‘amnesia’ plot is honestly one of my LEAST favorite tropes, in anything. From the moment that season started airing and Peter reappeared being a complete stranger, I just disliked that so much on principle. But what will always pain me is how by doing so, the writers completely erased not just Peter but THE FIRST THREE SEASONS.

Like, poof, gone.

(adding a 'keep reading' because this is long 😂)

Conveniently, it erased Baby!Henry in the process, which the writers might have felt would be too much of an issue? Personally I would have loved to see that unfold. I know I’ve discussed this before on this blog, probably more than once, but they could have kept SO MUCH of season 4 the way it was, as far as the Bridge was concerned, could have come up with a brand new Vilain to do all the “NEW UNIVERSE” stuff Bell/Jones tried to do, while our core characters had to deal with the consequences of everything that happened in season 3 (including Peter being a dad, WITHOUT trying to force a stupid ‘love triangle’ down our throats, thank you). It would have made for great, impactful family drama, because who are we kidding. Anyone who loves Fringe typically loves it because it is such an emotional, family drama. So yes, I will forever mourn the universe(s) we had season 1-3, and endlessly daydream about what could have been.

Now let me talk about Peter Bishop, it’s been a hot minute. Peter Bishop, who was hated basically the entire time the show was airing, and still now is strongly disliked by a lot of viewers, and honestly, I can’t blame them? I’ve had over a decade to analyze his character, have spent hundreds of hours writing stories from his POV, explaining his traumas & mistakes, have written giant meta posts about him back in the days to explain his behavior, so I’m not exactly objective, but I’m also very honest about how flawed his character is. Not (just) as a human being, which is normal because humans are flawed. I mean, he’s flawed in the way the writers used him/wrote him.

He’s probably the most inconsistent of all the characters. He’s the character who suffered the most from the ‘let’s make this person act out a certain way to make sure it fits our plot’ syndrome. I will never forgive the writers for how…clueless (for lack of a better word), they wrote Peter in early season 3 during the Switch. Yes, Peter was traumatized as a kid, yes he was in love, yes yes, I know all of that, I’ve written endlessly about it to explain his cluelessness so I know.

Still, Peter should have figured it out. Peter as we saw him in season 1 and 2, especially second half of season 2, would have figured out. He figured out BY HIMSELF that he was from another universe, ‘just’ from his dad and Olivia’s weird behaviors and the fact that he didn’t go ‘POOF’ on that bridge in 2x18. Peter went to another universe, he met Olivia’s alternate. He’d just spent weeks running from his life, trying to accept the fact that he was lied to all of his life. At best, he was suspicious, at worst, he was paranoid (as was mentioned in 2x20 in Northwest Passage). Literally 3 days after he gets to THAT OTHER UNIVERSE, and 3 hours after meeting Olivia’s doppelganger, Olivia ‘I hide from my own emotions’ Dunham comes tell him he belongs with her and smooches him, so he goes home. Yet the writers want me to believe Peter would not have still been reeling from EVERYTHING that just happened in his life, and not be a bit on edge?

Like, ‘damn, the woman I love and have come to know quite well these past 2 years is suddenly SO DIFFERENT? ALMOST LIKE SHE’S ANOTHER PERSON? A BIT LIKE THAT ALTERNATE VERSION OF HER I MET 48H AGO, THAT’S NOT A COINCIDENCE AT ALL’. But nope, Peter just accepts it, EVERY CHARACTER on that side just accepts it, when Lincoln and Charlie keep on looking at our Olivia like “Is this chick for real? WHAT IF THEY SWITCHED THEM?”

I’m forever frustrated. It just doesn’t feel believable to me, never has. It feels like the writers went “we want everyone, and especially Peter, to be clueless the entire time so we can write our drama the way we planned it.” And that’s a shame, honestly, because that whole damn arc is already so good as it is. But it would been even better if Peter HAD figured it out, if he’d kept on pretending for a bit, if HE’D conned Altlivia the way she conned him. Like I mentioned before, Olivia already went through so much trauma during the Switch, they could have found ways to make her miserable upon coming back, without Peter having slept with her alternate for a few weeks—and the knowledge that he didn’t realize what was going on. More daydreaming on my part about what could have been.

I could go on when it comes to the way they wrote Peter honestly. The whole “maybe Peter has feelings for the other Olivia” crap in the second half of s3, and “the universe that will survive depends on which Olivia Peter chooses”, excuse me??? Altlivia basically abused him??? She used him in so many ways, including sexually. She wasn’t even herself, she was pretending, playing him the whole time. HOW IS HE SUPPOSED TO HAVE FEELINGS EXCEPT A LOT OF SELF-LOATHING AND MORE UNRESOLVED TRAUMA?

Anyway, I think you get my vibe and why I’ll forever be sad/mad about this. As a writer & storyteller myself, one of my strengths and favorite aspects of writing is figuring out the characters’ motivations, what drives them, and how it makes them behave. Peter’s character is just…wobbly, during those arcs. He’s inconsistent from plotline to plotline, and it feels off to me. He’s a lot more true and consistent to how I understand him in season 4, but in season 3, he’s a hot mess, meant as a plot device more than anything else, and that makes me sad. Characters are what drive stories and shape the plot, not the other way around. So yeah, I don’t blame people for always having such strong opinions/dislikes where Peter is concerned.

I could come up with more things, but this is already long enough 😂 In case that wasn’t clear, those flaws don’t stop me from having the deepest love for this show. What it did well, it did extremely well, and even all those years later, I still cry rewatching it, because the emotions were real. They're still real.

Plus it gave me Olivia Dunham, so really, it wins just for that.

#fringe #fringe meta #kinda 😂#also called 'ambre is ranting at 13 year old plotlines that made no sense'#meta

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littlebitsmile · 3 months

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in flames [C.L.] | Chapter VI

Welcome back to another week's madness. Things are finally a bit more confrontational between Emma and Charles - but don't worry, this is only the start.

Enjoy the off-race-weekend and have a wonderful week, see you next Sunday xx

story: in flames driver: Charles Leclerc [C.L.] trope: #haterstolovers summary: Always working three times as hard as everyone else, Emma does not intend to blow her chance of driving among the best of the best in her very first season in Formula 1. Concentrating on first and foremost getting ahead of her brother, she does not even notice that there are some people even in her own team who think she does not deserve this spot and would rather see her fail. And one driver in particular seems to have a need of always reminding her of that.

────ʚ C H A P T E R VI ɞ────

"And it's lights out this weekend in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia!" I hear the presenter's voice from the TVs on the wall. I'm so angry that I storm through the pit lane into my driver's room without saying a word and slam the door behind me, paying little attention to "Bad luck, no worries, Emma!" from one of the mechanics in the garage.

After yesterday's qualifying, I had the opportunity to start from 5th place today. Everything felt the same as always - the lights went out and I put all my strength into the gas pedal. With my back against the seat, the wind against my visor and a smile on my lips, it was a dream start, the likes of which I have rarely achieved in Formula 2.

The feeling for the car came naturally and without much thought, I took off into the first corner, leaving Oscar Piastri and Sergio Perez behind me. For a brief moment, a warm feeling spread through my chest, after I had felt almost nothing but doubt from all sides in recent weeks. I accelerated perfectly out of the corner and was even able to briefly catch the outside of Charles Leclerc's red Ferrari at the braking point of the next corner. Maybe I wanted too much at that moment - to get one over on him after the conversation at Max's New Year's Eve party, to get back at him. But the feeling when I felt the brief contact on the front left tire and shortly afterward spun into the gravel and then slowed down and slid into the barrier is something I won't forget for a while.

"Are you okay, Emma?" Sarah asked over the team radio. I can't remember what I answered.

Now I'm sitting here with my helmet lying in the corner, my rider's suit still fully on and wrinkles of anger on my forehead. My eyes are still fixed on the screen. I watch as Charles confidently masters lap after lap and only drops one place.

"Frustrating, isn't it?" comes a voice out of nowhere. I look toward the door and see Carlos Sainz, dressed in a red polo shirt, limping towards me. I immediately get up, meet him, and move under his shoulder to support him. He laughs and moves with me toward the sofa, where he drops down and looks at me expectantly.

"Hm?" I say as my head bounces back and forth between him and the screen.

"Frustrating when you actually have everything within reach and then lose it all again - within a millisecond."

I look at him and for the first time, I notice how tired he is. I've known Carlos since he drove with Max at Toro Rosso in 2014, and some days I've actually wished he could put Max in his place. That hasn't always worked out well, but you have to have all the more respect for him when you see how hard he trains for his results. The biggest compliment is probably that my brother hasn't said a single bad word about Carlos and tends to speak positively about the still-Ferrari driver - especially in public.

My anger fades a little. When I think about what I want to say and how it might come across to him, only one word comes to mind to describe me: Crazy. I was on the outside and should have given Charles more space, wanted more than I could handle at that moment and ended up at the end of the gravel trap through no fault of my own.

"I know how it is in racing - everyone is their own best friend, but..."

"I didn't ask how you would rationally assess the situation, I asked if you were frustrated."

"Of course, I am! Of course, I'm frustrated," I admit and throw my arms in the air. My legs start to move up and down the room of their own accord. "I'm trying to put on a good performance and... I'm not saying that Charles is to blame for my elimination, but I imagine there was enough space to the left of him and he..."

"...kicked you out on purpose?" Carlos finishes my sentence. I look at him and consider whether I should nod. A short pause fills the room, leaving only the sound of engines from the race broadcast echoing from the TV. "You're frustrated, but you need to turn it off."

"That's so easy to say - but who am I telling?"

"Sometimes things happen that we can't help. And sometimes things happen that we should and do blame ourselves for, but blaming someone else for something helps us exactly zero."

"Since when are you so wise? Did they accidentally cut something during your appendectomy that's responsible for your impulsiveness?"

Carlos laughs, loudly, before letting out a short "ooh" of pain and reflexively pressing his hand against the side of his stomach. "Believe me, I'm certainly one of the people who knows the most about frustration. Whether Charles was responsible for the situation out there or not, if you blame him, you'll always stay distracted. Get over it and focus on yourself again."

"Is that what you're doing? Any news about 2025 yet?"

"No, and even if I did, I wouldn't be allowed to tell you."

"That frustrates me too, by the way - you're the only one who can hold a candle to Max, I know that better than anyone. And yet Mr. I-have-seven-world-championship-titles-and-wine-my-eighth-behind-and-Mr. I-belong-at-Ferrari-because-it-is-my-dream are more likely to get a seat than you? I wouldn't begrudge them if you can drive next to Max next year and you both win every race with a double Red Bull lead. My favorite thing would be if you were world champion and Max was only runner-up."

"I appreciate your words, but I don't think that's going to happen. Charles is a good driver and person, you've just caught him on the wrong foot the last few times - and your...differences with Lewis are just a result of you being biased. I promise. That will all go away after this year."

"You're too good for this world, Carlos. But the fact that I still have a bone to pick with that one..." I point my thumb towards the TV, "...not even you can prevent that."

I sit down next to him and rest my head on his shoulder. There was once a time when I dreamt of a moment like this, while I cut out photos of Carlos from magazines and stuck them together on a poster. Now he's like a big brother - the only person who knows Max better than me and can probably understand why I sometimes want to wring his neck.

A message appears on the TV informing us that the race incident has been analyzed by race control and that Charles will not be fined.

"Somehow I'm a little scared for him - he doesn't know you yet when you're really fired up."

"He'll learn about me soon enough, Carlos. Just wait."

"What do you think you're doing? Do you enjoy pushing other drivers? You could have left a bit more space!" I shout and charge towards Charles, who is throwing himself into the Ferrari crowd next to me to celebrate his third place. I stand behind the barrier, gathering all my strength and using every ounce of my lung capacity to ensure he can’t overhear me.

Charles turns in my direction, takes two steps towards me and smiles smugly at me: "I'm going to tell you something I wouldn't tell everyone: Fuck off. You're too aggressive in your driving, you think you can get away with anything. You may still be new, but there's no puppy protection here, you can remember that right away. If you want to drive like a pro, you'll have to live with the consequences, we all had to learn that." In the next moment he attempts to turn away and head to his first interview. Standing on the lowest metal bar of the barrier, I lean forward, grab him by the collar of his suit and pull him back towards me. I slide back down to the ground and have to turn my head upwards due to the difference in height.

"You could have spared two centimeters of space without sacrificing your podium place, you conceited snob. Do you think just because it says Ferrari on your back, you're the next Michael Schuhmacher?" My eyes are glowing. A few people turn in our direction and stop talking to each other so they can hear why there's noise here that has nothing to do with the celebrations.

"Do you think because you have Verstappen in your surname we'll all make way for you and give you a win? Oh, wait, you wouldn't win anyway because you've always been number two, right?" Charles steps up to the barrier and is only a few centimeters away from my face. He's taller than me, at least when I'm standing on the ground. I step back onto the first metal bar of the barrier, offering him at least minimal resistance. I swallow. Tears sting my eyes because the statement was more hurtful than I'd like to admit.

"Are you going to start crying now? Woman, we all have our own expectations about this sport and more so of ourselves and therefore, pressure. Everyone has been knocked out before because they drove too aggressively, and the risk therefore being too high. Max might be able to help you out here, but certainly not on the track. Learn to live with it and you might survive longer than a season." His words are quieter now. He looks frantically left and right, probably not wanting to be in the papers tomorrow. I briefly imagine the headlines, then shake my head and meet his gaze.

I take another breath, stand up straight and then look him deep in the eye before speaking with firm conviction: "I hope you remember exactly what I'm about to say, because I'm not going to repeat it again: as long as I'm part of this grid, you have to respect me as much as anyone else, whether you like it or not. And I swear to God, if you pull a stunt like that agin, Max will be the least of your worries." Then I stand back on the ground and take two steps back. Where I was just standing, the room immediately fills up with Red Bull mechanics, but Charles doesn't miss the opportunity to respond again.

"Wow, I’m shaking in my boots. Please, don't strain yourself, let it all out. But in the end, you'll still just be one thing: somebody who barks but doesn't bite." With that, he turns around and leaves me to the crowd of people standing outside cheering for the winners.

"I find myself back in Netflix's Drive to Survive recording room with the same interviewer who sat across from me last time. My flight leaves for Australia on Monday, two days from now, but thanks to the viral videos of Charles' and my argument, they naturally want my direct, unfiltered truth before my PR team strategizes and answers me accordingly.

"Emma! What happened out there? For a short time, it looked like you could make up two places on the first lap. Then there was an incident with Charles Leclerc on the second corner..." the interviewer begins. The additional lights blind me, just like the first time. I don't feel any less uncomfortable and I'm beginning to regret the direct confrontation. I want to race fast cars and compete in races, but I have no interest in adding more drama to a show that's as scripted and shallow as 'The Bachelor'.

"No comment on the incident. Race control looked at the incident and decided not to impose a penalty, I have to accept that," I say calmly. I almost congratulate myself for keeping my composure. Take that!

"Do you expect an apology from Charles Leclerc or Ferrari? After all, they ruined your race." The provocative line is not new to me. I can't even blame him, after all, they're just trying to make their series as exciting as possible. The stereotype is that women are emotional, but the truth is, everyone enjoys drama, regardless of gender.

"It always takes two to make an incident like this happen. I'm analyzing the raw data with my team and will adjust my behavior accordingly - a result like this is disappointing for Aston Martin and most of all for me. But we'll regroup and give our best shot in the next race." I am convinced of my words. I am fully aware that there was a collective murmur around the Aston Martin pit lane at the moment of retirement, along with a few comments that probably sounded a lot like "typical" and "natural". Nevertheless, we must all look forward and give ourselves a chance.

"After tenth place last week in Bahrain and a DNF here in Jeddah, what are the learnings for the next two weeks in preparation for Australia?"

I let a few seconds pass before answering. The first lesson is that I need to react faster to avoid situations like the one with Charles. "I plan to depart earlier than Fernando, giving me more time to acclimate and train."

At this moment, I notice a movement in the background. Everyone turns around before the interviewer thanks me for my statement, shakes my hand and can hardly wait to shoo me out of my chair. In passing, I notice that the crew greet Charles, who has apparently also been invited to make a short statement. All the attention is now on him, which I'm honestly glad about. I am allowed to exhale deeply without anyone noticing how tense I actually was. I stand up, put on my cap and march straight towards Charles. He looks at me wide-eyed as I hug him and wish him a good interview before I sneak out the door, giggling a little at the thought of the questions he's about to be asked. Sometimes revenge comes in a different form than you first expect."

────ʚ [Masterlist] [Chapter V] [Chapter VII (in progress)] ɞ────

Tags: @cmleitora @alliwantisadonut

#f1 #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #charles leclerc #f1 imagine #slow burn #haters to lovers

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barrowsteeth · 2 years

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The Subtle Art of Attraction

[note: long post + gif heavy meta ahead!]

Much has been said about the innocence of the Heartstopper tv series since it premiered. In season one, there is no drinking, no smoking or drug use, no swearing (much to the irritation of those who just want Nick Nelson to say f*ck since he does so regularly in the graphic novels). There is also little sexual content, and nothing beyond hand holding and some pretty innocent kissing. But this doesn’t mean pleasure takes a back seat in the series, and sometimes finding ways to show physical attraction in subtle ways, leaving it up to the viewer to interpret, makes for an equally satisfying experience. I feel Heartstopper excels in this area, particularly where Nick and Charlie are concerned. There are dozens of these moments and I couldn't possibly mention them all, so I'll highlight my favorites. Feel free to add yours to the comments so we can all obsess discuss. Now, let’s dive right into episode two, where we see the first hints of how Nick’s feelings for Charlie are changing.

Nick seems fairly oblivious to start, but everything changes the day Charlie visits his house and he notices Charlie’s haircut. In the previous scene, Tori said Charlie’s hair looks the same, which leads us to believe that Nick is a little hyper-focused on Charlie's appearance, at least enough to notice a subtle change in his hair length. He doesn’t hesitate to reach out and play with Charlie’s curls, and when Charlie asks if it looks bad, Nick starts to blurt out that Charlie looks good, before he catches himself, looks Charlie up and down, then corrects to say the haircut looks great. Subtlety is not a skill Nick Nelson has mastered.

We've all talked a lot about the scene in which Charlie tries to teach Nick how to play the drums, but it’s a turning point for Nick and I think it needs to be mentioned. My favorite part of the scene is when Charlie grabs Nick’s hands and starts tapping out the beat. They’re squished together on that little stool, Charlie’s hands tightly gripped around his own, and when Nick finally breaks his gaze away from their hands and looks at Charlie, the realization that something is different is clear on his face, even if he hasn’t quite put all the pieces together yet. I love the parallel between their hands touching in this scene and the next.

In the next scene, we see that Nick and Charlie have been sitting on the couch watching movies. Nick seems a little tired when he looks over to see that Charlie has fallen asleep next to him. Perhaps his defenses are down because of the late hour? We see everything start to slowly click into place in Nick’s mind. He starts by smiling fondly at Charlie but quickly lowers his gaze to Charlie’s mouth. His own mouth opens a little and he looks back up at Charlie, considering.

They are alone, the room is cozy and quiet except for the movie playing softly in the background, when we see Nick looking at Charlie’s upturned hand, practically asking to be held. Nick can’t resist hovering his hand over Charlie’s in this safe space. While the first experiment is short, Nick looks at Charlie’s mouth again after the first pass of his hand over Charlie’s, and he can’t resist going back for more. On the second pass, he holds his hand over Charlie’s for a much longer time, soaking up the imagined feeling of what it would be like to lower his hand just a little bit more and slot their fingers together. Is he remembering what it felt like when Charlie’s hands covered his own when they were sitting at the drum kit?

By the end of the scene Nick knows what he’s feeling, and what’s fascinating is that even after everything that’s happened so far, he doesn’t make excuses and run for the door, yet. Instead, he and Charlie have a lengthy goodbye and a spontaneous hug before Nick finally begins to panic and leaves.

We see a similar sizzle and fizz in episode three when Nick and Charlie are alone in the ballroom and have their first kiss, which is just as tentative and soft and sweet as anyone could have wished for. But while I adore their first kiss, it’s the second kiss that truly shows the physical attraction between them. This second kiss is more passionate, less controlled, and a little messier than the first. They now know they like kissing each other, but it’s too new and exciting to worry about technique and how their mouths fit together. This kiss is full of want, and while it’s still pretty innocent by tv standards, we can see how different this is than their first nervous kiss. Charlie’s hand cups Nick’s face before they kiss, then Nick pulls Charlie in closer by his shoulder. Mid-kiss, Charlie fists his other hand in Nick’s shirt, and when this kiss ends, Charlie’s hand slides down so he’s gripping Nick’s shirt in both of his hands. They don’t separate right away after this second kiss and while we can see Nick is a little shocked and awestruck, the panic doesn’t settle in until he hears Harry’s voice.

The morning after the party, there’s an entirely different tension between our boys when Nick shows up unexpectedly at Charlie’s house. Neither is sure how the other is feeling since Nick ran off after their kiss the night before. When they retreat to Charlie’s room, we see Charlie looking at Nick as he takes off his rain-soaked sweatshirt. This isn’t the first time Charlie has seen Nick’s body; they’re on the rugby team together and we’ve seen Nick without his shirt in the changing room before practice. But that isn’t a safe place to look at another boy’s body, especially not for an out gay kid like Charlie. While the circumstances are not ideal, Charlie can’t help but look in the privacy of his own room. Of course Charlie being Charlie, he quickly averts his eyes when he catches himself looking, adding to the guilt weighing on his mind.

Thankfully, Nick and Charlie are back on track the next morning and this time, they can barely (read: cannot at all) contain their excitement when they see each other in form the next morning. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to watch them say hi to each other without smiling like a fool – and happily so! A few hours later, we find Nick waiting for Charlie in Mr Ajayi’s art room. Charlie pokes fun at Nick for saying he missed him after only four hours apart, but honestly, if you are Charlie Spring, you are probably bursting with joy hearing the boy you like say this to you! The boys are still all smiles as they banter and tease, and Charlie pulls Nick’s hand to his under the table. This is all really new, and scary for Nick especially, but it’s also exciting and fun, and joyful. They are simply happy to be alone together, to be able to openly flirt and smile and touch, however secretly, in the sanctuary of the art room.

I’m running out of room for gifs so I’m going to skip over episode five, since I went into great detail about the arcade scene in another post, and move right on to my favorite episode in the series, Girls. So much happens to advance Nick and Charlie’s relationship in episode six, it almost – almost – could have been a happy season finale.

We first see Nick and Charlie spending time together on a blanket in the park with Nellie. Nick asks Charlie about how he knew he was gay and it’s clear he’s trying to work through his uncertainty about his sexuality. I love how this scene opens because we’ve just seen Nick have his big Pirates of the Caribbean moment, after which he watched the vlogger talk about bisexuality. But now he’s ready to open up a little bit more to Charlie. He asks him questions and includes him in the conversation. He doesn't divulge much, yet, but this is the first time we’ve seen them openly discuss it, and it feels like a big step that they’ve reached this point.

When Nick gets frustrated with himself, Charlie tries to lighten the mood and takes his hand before asking Nick if he wants to kiss under the guise of helping him figure things out. This moment is so adorable and soft it makes my toes curl, but I also think it shows how comfortable they’ve become with casual physical intimacy.

After some playful banter, Nick reaches out for Charlie’s hands and pulls him back down to the blanket. They’re out together in public, tucked in next to an old tree for a little privacy. And while Charlie initially looks around before taking Nick’s hand, and their almost-kiss is interrupted before it starts, the lead up to the kiss sparks with attraction. Nick looks like the only thing he wants in the entire world is to kiss Charlie, which is understandable because Charlie looks absolutely kissable!

When I started planning this post, I was only going to focus on this next scene – in which Nick and Charlie are doing their homework in Charlie’s room – because it is packed with little moments that show how much these boys are attracted to one another, but also how far they’ve come in their relationship. So let’s dig deep into all of my favorite moments.

We start off with a beautiful, long shot of Charlie watching Nick. What I love most about this scene is how much time Charlie is given to simply look at Nick and appreciate the physicality of him. In the graphic novel, Nick is caught staring at Charlie in this scene, but I actually prefer that they changed the point of view in the tv series. We’re given ample opportunity to see Nick’s soppy love face (my favorite thing in the entire world, to be honest) throughout season one, and a lot of the focus is on Nick’s journey. But Charlie is on his own journey, and I think it’s important that he’s given the screen time here. In addition to leveling things up a little bit, I think this scene in particular has special significance for Charlie.

Charlie is an out, gay boy, the only one in his entire school. He had a sort-of relationship with Ben for a few months, but it was always clandestine. They met in the shadows to kiss occasionally but they weren’t boyfriends. Ben never came to his house. Ben never acknowledged knowing Charlie in front of anyone. Their relationship was limited to secret rendezvous in dark corners, only on Ben’s timeline and on Ben’s terms. Even though Nick and Charlie are tucked away in Charlie’s room, and they aren’t out to the world as a couple, they have established a relationship by this point and have talked about how much they like each other. As Charlie said in the art room in episode four, it is completely different than it was with Ben.

So it’s because of this that I’m thrilled that Charlie gets to have focus in this scene. The guy he likes so much is in his room, casually doing his homework, and Charlie is given all the time in the world to just stare and appreciate how attractive he finds Nick. The lighting highlights Nick’s entire body, not just his face, and Charlie just stares and stares and lets his mind wander. He twiddles with his pen and just keeps on looking, and it gives the viewer time to wonder what he’s thinking.

Even after Nick catches him staring, and Charlie’s eyes flick back up to Nick’s face, it takes Charlie a second to get a hold of himself. Then he tosses his pen at Nick to break the tension. In reality, it’s only seven or eight seconds before Nick looks up and sees Charlie watching him, but in a 22 minute episode, every second counts. It feels like a conscious decision to show that it’s a perfectly normal, wonderful, and exciting thing to be able to simply look at the person you’re attracted to and take the time to savor it.

But of course, the scene that makes me feel Nick and Charlie’s attraction deep in my bones comes next, after Nick tells Charlie he told Tara and Darcy they’re going out. Charlie’s face is a mix of disbelief and joy when he tackles Nick to the floor. Nick gives Charlie the most bewildered look when Charlie breaks their kiss to ask him if he’s sure he wanted to come out to the girls. When they begin to kiss again, Nick flips Charlie over so Charlie is underneath him, completely wrapped up in him, then dives back in for another kiss.

The viewer doesn’t see a lot of actual kissing in this part of the scene, but the boys’ body language – Charlie’s arms tightening around Nick’s body, his fists bunched in Nick’s sweatshirt – shows the viewer how different and intense these kisses are. The rest is left to our imagination.

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